


Stiles Stilinski: The Douchebag Whisperer

by LunartheDragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Everyone Loves Danny Mahealani, Fix-It, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Season 2 Rewrite, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Stiles is not dealing with y'all's bullshit anymore, Stilinski Family Feels, he just doesn't realize it, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 50,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunartheDragon/pseuds/LunartheDragon
Summary: Stiles would like to claim it all started with Derek Hale, but that’s not true. It began with Jackson. Well, okay no again, technically it begins with Danny, but not because Danny’s a douchebag. It is more like Danny is the original douchebag whisperer, having befriended Jackson to begin with, and Stiles is set upon a similar path thanks to him.-Or-Stiles takes it upon himself to understand the douchebags and assholes of Beacon Hills, carving out a place in their lives and forcing them to take care of themselves.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 36
Kudos: 526





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic written for the Teen Wolf reunion that was going to happen, but since they rescheduled it - support BlackLivesMatter y'all - I've had this one my computer for a little while now. The next chapter I'll probably throw up in a day or two.
> 
> This is just a massive, feel good fic that hopefully retains some of the joy of earlier seasons of Teen Wolf. I will be going a little bit into Season 3 as well in the next chapter, but for the most part I'm completely ignoring that last seasons.

Stiles would like to claim it all started with Derek Hale, but that’s not true. It began with Jackson. Well, okay no again, technically it begins with Danny, but not because Danny’s a douchebag. It is more like Danny is the original douchebag whisperer, having befriended Jackson to begin with, and Stiles is set upon a similar path thanks to him.

Danny is the Yoda to Stiles’s Luke.

It starts near the end of freshman year, the last major project for science on the horizon, when Harris demands everyone pair up with someone they haven’t before. It, as expected, gets a lot of disgruntled reactions as people mill about trying to find a partner they can stomach but hardly know.

Somehow, someway, Stiles ends up with Danny. He tries to tell himself it is just because he’s just that desirable, but he logically knows it’s because, other than Lydia, Stiles is one of the smarter students in this room and he and Danny will likely be able to scrounge together something good.

It goes fine because everyone likes Danny – who wouldn’t like Danny? Really. – and Danny is _just_ patient enough to deal with most of Stiles’s ramblings, but also stern enough to call him out when it gets annoying.

It works. They get an A. There are no more projects to worry about for the rest of the year.

That’s not the important part, though. The important part is during one of their meetings in the library, when Danny decides they need to take a break because Stiles is beginning to vibrate out of his chair. Stiles is relieved, immediately digging out a bag of chips from his bag, when Jackson Whittemore makes his appearance.

It would be so much easier to deal with if Lydia were there, give Stiles something beautiful to look at while Jackson speaks to Danny and shoots passive-aggressive-but-actually-mostly-aggressive comments Stiles’s way.

When the asshole finally leaves, Stiles groans and shoots a look at Danny. “Why do you even hang out with that guy?” he demands, definitely not pouting. “You’re, like, one of the greatest guys in this school but you befriend _that_ monstrosity of a human being?”

Danny smirks a little at Stiles’s passing compliment, before shrugging, like it’s no big deal. “He’s really not that bad, he’s just got a lot of issues all packed in there.”

“What? You expect me to believe he’s all soft and squishy on the inside?” Stiles’s face pinches in disbelief.

Danny gives a single snort, looking down at their science book with little interest. “Most assholes do. Hard on the outside, sweet in the middle.”

“Are we still talking about people here or are you making innuendos?”

Danny gives him an unimpressed look with that before waving a hand at the bag of chips left forgotten in Stiles’s hand. “Eat your snack so we can get back to work.”

And that’s the end of that, but for whatever reason it sticks with Stiles. He _supposes_ Jackson Whittemore and all the other asshole jocks around Beacon Hills are, _technically_ , human, but that doesn’t mean he has any desire to _get to know_ any of them. He doubts they’re as soft inside as Danny seems to be suggesting. It’s likely more like they’re just… slightly less douchey. Maybe. Possibly.

Okay, so maybe it has Stiles curious, but not curious enough to do anything about it. He doesn’t owe anyone anything, and besides a few cursory google searches on rude behavior as coping mechanisms, he drops it.

Until the first semester of sophomore year.

They’re about halfway through September when Stiles gets into an argument with Jackson. In the middle of history. It begins as hissed comments, Stiles thinks it was about Lydia – which is a safe bet, it’s always about Lydia – but the hissing quickly becomes sniping and biting comments and Scott doesn’t share this class with Stiles to calm him down before Mrs. Travis stops them.

Mrs. Travis is a monster, everyone knows it. She’s old and tired and clearly ready to retire and she knows them all way too well. She knows detention will serve no purpose and decides to torture Stiles and Jackson the best way she knows how.

By making them work together on a presentation they will give in one week to the class.

Stiles hates his life.

Which is what leads to more sniping in the halls, furious glares, and general hatred permeating from all directions.

After school they end up facing off against each other in the parking lot, and Stiles thinks the only way it could be more complete is if a tumbleweed went by, but instead he gets a sympathetic pat from Scott and even more glares from Jackson’s circle of friends.

Except from Danny. Because Danny is a fucking saint. A saint that looks like he’s done with all this shit.

“We’re going to your house, Stilinski. Like hell am I letting you anywhere near my property,” Jackson finally snarls, moving towards his Porsche.

“You mean mommy and daddy’s property, right?” Stiles calls, because he can’t help himself, but then quickly hurries to his jeep when Jackson looks ready to charge him.

So, they go to the Stilinski household and Stiles’s father gives him the strangest look when the two boys enter his home. Half-confused, half-amused.

“I’ll be in my office,” Noah Stilinski says after Stiles gives him a brief explanation of events, “You two take the den. And try not to procrastinate. The quicker you’re finished the quicker I can stop worrying about cleaning blood out of my carpet.”

Jackson sneers but smartly keeps his mouth shut and the two hurry to get to work. It isn’t easy going at all, they argue constantly, disagreeing at every turn, unable to make a single decision without an entire debate preceding it. It is exactly what Stiles was expecting and he hates it. He hates how furious he’s getting and how energized it makes him until finally he throws his hands up and demands they take a break.

Jackson snarls and gets up to storm into the kitchen, likely to get away from everything as best he can, and Stiles turns on the TV. Everything had been set up for a game night with Scott, but they’d obviously had to cancel, but that doesn’t mean Stiles can’t use his games to calm him down.

He turns his PS3 on, then starts looking through his game boxes beside the console, trying to find something he can drown himself in, and settles on a replay of Mass Effect. Maybe, if he seems really invested, Jackson will just leave on his own.

However, the game is only just loading onto the start screen when the rich boy douchebag steps back in, still fuming, and gives the television screen a distasteful scowl.

“The fuck is this?” he demands, sounding affronted, as if Stiles had somehow done some great, awful thing by _turning on a video game_.

“Like we were going to get anything else done today,” Stiles huffs, not looking over from where he’s sitting on one end of the couch, controller in hand as he starts up a new game and begins to build a new Shepard. He attempts to at least chose backgrounds he hasn’t before, and his attention is zeroed in until Jackson flops down on the other end of the couch.

Damn it, Stiles had really hoped he’d leave…

“What even is this?” Jackson questions, still sneering and snooty, but when Stiles looks over the other boy looks… kind of curious? At least a little bit curious? A micro amount of curious?

“A video game,” Stiles snarks, arching a brow, “You’ve heard of those, right? What? Don’t have all the consoles back in your mansion paradise?”

Jackson scowls, head snapping to glare at Stiles and mouth opening to say something that will likely lead them into _yet another_ argument, but Stiles cuts him off. He doesn’t _actually_ want to leave bloodstains his father has to clean up.

“It’s called Mass Effect. The first one. There’s two out so far,” he flaps his hand in what he intends to be a dismissive motion but ends up just kind of flopping it around like a dead fish.

“Let me guess. It’s one of your shitty ‘nerd games,’ right?” Jackson huffs, smirking when Stiles rolls his eyes and looks to the screen again. “It is, isn’t it? Some scifi garbage, I bet.”

“It is scifi,” Stiles says through gritted teeth, then proceeds to wave the controller towards the TV and his yet-to-be customized Shepard standing there. “I also have a _gun_ , jackass, and an awesome spaceship with hot crewmates and aliens! How does that not sound amazing?!”

Jackson snorts, sharp and rude, and crosses his arms. “Sounds like a nerd game.”

Stiles wonders why this guy is still here. Why hasn’t Jackson just got up and left already and is, instead, ridiculing Stiles’s perfect legitimate choices in video games?

For a moment he is reminded of Danny from the previous year and his comments about hard shells and soft middles. He remembers the stuff he read online. He chances a glance over at Jackson and thinks that if this guy has a soft middle, it’s still definitely not sweet. Probably sour. Or bitter. Or both.

He huffs, deciding to ignore Jackson until he just leaves already on his own – like this, too, is some kind of standoff – and continues with his Shepard. He starts playing with the facial features, not really sure what he’s going to settle on, and definitely ignoring how focused Jackson’s stare has become on the screen.

He ends up with a pretty crappy first draft and is entirely planning on going back to spruce up the character, when Jackson snorts. Stiles looks to him with a glare, almost immediately forgetting his goal of ignoring this douchebag, and snaps, “What?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re going with?” Jackson’s smirk is oozing arrogance and judgement and Stiles just really, really hates him.

“You think you can do better?” Stiles snaps, then turns forward and begins backtracking. He resets every single thing, cancels out of the new game, then starts another. Then he shoves the controller at Jackson and flops back against the couch, making a big motion at the screen. “Then do better! The floor is yours!”

Jackson holds the controller like it is something disgusting, a cringe on his face, eying the television apprehensively. Then, as if coming to some kind of decision within his pretty boy head, he’s settling the controller between his hands and biting out, “Fine.”

He chooses a custom, male Shepard, names him Jackson – because of course he does – then pauses as he reads over the “Pre-Service History” choices. Stiles notes how he honestly seems to be considering them before choosing Earthborn, then War Hero for his Psychological Profile.

He pauses on the Specialization choices, brows furrowed as he reads, and before he can ask Stiles is offering, offhanded, “’Biotics’ is just space magic.”

He doesn’t get a thank you, but he wasn’t expecting one, as Jackson chooses Vanguard.

Then comes nearly an hour of Jackson perfecting his character’s face. Constant alterations and fixes to make everything work together and what emerges is one of the best looking Shepards Stiles has ever seen. Which totally doesn’t make him mad. Not at all.

And then…

Well, to be honest, Stiles is expecting Jackson to hand over the controller now that he’s done with his vanity project, but then the game is suddenly loading and Jackson’s full attention is still on the TV and Stiles watches in amazement as he goes through the tutorial. And then the first mission. And the next. And…

Stiles slips out of the room completely unnoticed and ends up running into his father in the kitchen, who gives him a questioning look.

“I don’t know,” is all Stiles can say with a helpless shrug, glancing in the direction of the den. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Looks like you may have found some common ground,” his father observes with an arched brow, but it just makes Stiles scowl. He doesn’t want to have any common ground with Jackson Whittemore.

He thinks about hard outsides and soft insides.

He hates this so much…

**VvvvV**

It should be an isolated incident. It should. But it isn’t. Because about a month later Jackson shoves his way into the Stilinski household while the Sheriff is out and demands access to Stiles’s PS3.

“Do you seriously not have one at home?” Stiles questions, not believing it for a second, and not budging from his spot by the still-open front door.

Jackson scowls something fierce, glare cold, but Stiles has long been desensitized to it. “I spent too much time on that fucking playthrough. I’m not starting over.”

So Jackson ends up back in the den playing Mass Effect on Stiles’s PS3 because apparently this is Stiles’s life now. Stiles doesn’t stick around, they aren’t friends, but the entire time he’s up in his room doing schoolwork he’s aware that Jackson fucking Whittemore is downstairs, in his house, playing _Mass Effect_.

Literally nothing else changes. Nothing. Jackson is still an ass and terrible and has the most beautiful girl in the known universe hanging off his arm, but now, every few days or weeks, he crops up to continue his Mass Effect playthrough like it’s normal.

Stiles, while passing Danny in the halls just before winter break, says, “Apparently Jackson’s soft center is activated by scifi video games.”

Danny, who must know more than Stiles expected, smirks to himself and snorts.

**VvvvV**

Stiles isn’t thinking about Jackson the next time he tries to break through someone else’s hard surface and find their soft center. He isn’t even thinking about soft centers, really. Not consciously.

He thinks, maybe, after seeing the biggest douchebag of Beacon Hills High School, sitting quietly in the Stilinski den, playing Mass Effect and taking every dialogue option completely seriously, that Stiles subconsciously assumes that there must be more to these assholes than he’d always thought.

Which is why he ends up driving back out to the Hale House in the middle of the night after checking on Lydia with Scott.

He parks, slips out, and carries a still-warm pizza and two bottles of Coke up to the porch and sits down on the stone steps. He doesn’t say a word, which is a miracle for him, as he opens up the box, pulls out a slice of pizza, and begins to slowly chew.

He still says nothing when he hears heavy footsteps behind him, looking up and back when they stop, and finding Derek Hale glaring back at him from the burnt-out doorframe of his old, family home. His hands are covered in dirt and his eyes glow Alpha red, which really should frighten Stiles more than it does.

Stiles raises his Coke bottle in greeting, then motions at the pizza and the second bottle sitting beside him. Derek’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and he doesn’t move and finally Stiles speaks.

“I didn’t poison the damn food, Derek. Where would I even _get_ wolfsbane at this time of night?” he huffs with a heavy roll of his eyes. The familiar snark must be just enough to get the werewolf moving and he takes a seat on the step just above Stiles’s and as far away as possible.

He doesn’t touch the food or drink, though. The free food and drink. That Stiles got for him. Ungrateful ass.

“What are you doing here?” Derek demands, voice deep and threatening, but Stiles is too used to that and too exhausted to care. He just leans back on the porch behind him and takes a quick sip of his drink.

“Lydia’s alive,” he says, looking out at the trees, “But the bitemark hasn’t healed.” When he glances over, Derek’s remarkably expressive eyebrows have scrunched up in confusion. “Yeah, we don’t know what it means either…” he sighs, disappointed, having hoped Derek might know what this meant.

“She’s not a werewolf, but the bite didn’t kill her…” Derek recounts to himself.

“Something’s up with that, but there’s been too many things up recently that I don’t want to think about it anymore,” Stiles grumbles, “I just figured… ever since this all began our biggest problem has been complete lack of communication. On both sides!” he quickly adds the last part when he can sense Derek’s glare against the side of his head. “I thought we should go ahead and, y’know, not do that anymore?”

Derek doesn’t say a word, which isn’t surprising, but also doesn’t inspire confidence in Stiles’s plan.

“And…” he begins to add on, but stops himself, realizing what he’d been about to admit. The longer he remains silent, however, the more Derek’s stare burns at his skull, so he sighs and braces himself. “I didn’t think you should be alone…”

Derek releases a derisive laugh and Stiles looks back at him. “Am I some damsel, now? Are you protecting me?” he sneers and Stiles puffs up.

“What? No!”

“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. An Alpha. I don’t need some kid looking out for me,” Derek continues, like Stiles hadn’t even spoken.

“I’m just keeping you company!”

“And why would you do that?”

Because you’ve lost so much. Because you keep continuing to lose. Because you might be an Alpha now, but you just killed your own uncle only a few hours ago and had to bury him on your own. Stiles doesn’t say any of that.

“Because I want to,” he shrugs, then looks back out to the woods, reaching out to take a second slice of pizza. It’s absolutely covered in meats. He figured the wolf would appreciate that.

Derek is silent for a very long time, not even moving, but Stiles doesn’t address him any further. He stays quiet, allowing his exhaustion to silence the need to ramble, and chews slowly.

After what feels like forever he hears a shift, and a scrape of the cardboard pizza box, and the fizz of a Coke bottle being opened.

They sit and eat in silence for nearly an hour, just watching the forest and the stars.

**VvvvV**

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Stiles drawls as he looks around the abandoned train depot, not impressed at all. Just ahead of him, standing with his arms crossed, Derek glares daggers at his unexpected appearance.

Which, really, shouldn’t be all that unexpected.

There was still a severe lack of communication going on between everyone, in Stiles’s opinion, but after dropping a few subtle hints of his displeasure – see: sending a ridiculous number of texts to Derek until his phone likely crashed – Derek had buckled enough to at least tell him he’d set up shop at the abandoned train station.

And so Stiles had headed right over immediately.

“I need a space to train my pack,” Derek growls, still glaring, and eyes flashing red. His eyes didn’t use to flash this much. Stiles wonders if it’s an Alpha thing.

“Right, right. Your lovely pack of an emotionally abused teen boy who nearly tore my throat out and… yeah, no, that’s about it,” Stiles lists off on a single finger. “Although, you did bite Jackson – which was the dumbest idea, by the way – but he’s acting like it’s nothing so I wouldn’t expect him to pop up anytime soon.”

Derek’s scowl somehow deepens and his eyes are just glowing red now, no flickering. “Did you just come here to criticize my living space?” he snaps, rough and impatient.

“You’re _living here_ too?!” Stiles’s eyes bug out, then smirks when Derek begins to rumble with a growl. Sometimes it was too easy to rile up the werewolf, but this time… this time he is thinking about soft centers.

“Nah, I’m actually here to drag you to lunch with me,” he shrugs, aiming for nonchalant, but the way his eyes immediately lock on Derek in expectation kind of defeats the purpose. And Derek certainly doesn’t look very impressed, either.

“What?” Derek deadpans, eyes back to green and human-looking, but he hasn’t moved.

Stiles sighs, deep and defeated. He was great at bullshitting, he really was, but he’d learned that the best way to handle Derek Hale was with unbridled honesty. He’d wanted better communication, anyway, right?

“Listen, these last couple days have been hell in a handbasket – what with Lydia going missing and Isaac getting turned and the hunters and someone killing Isaac’s dad – and I think you, and I, could use a Breathe Break.”

“A what?” one of Derek’s brows pops up and now he _really_ looks unimpressed, but less mean about it. More like he can’t believe he’s dealing with this right now.

“A Breathe Break! It’s something me and my dad do. Even before all this stuff we would bump heads sometimes, or he’d get crazy stressed with work, or me with school and life, so we came up with Breathe Breaks!” Stiles explains, his hands beginning to flap around, moving just as much as his mouth. “Basically, we both go and do something and, while doing this thing, we leave everything behind. We don’t talk about it, don’t address it, just make ourselves live in the moment and… breeeeeeathe.”

Derek is staring at him with the exact same expression, definitely not impressed, before he says, slowly, like he’s speaking to an idiot. “A Breathe Break…”

“A Breathe Break!”

“And what about Scott?”

“Already had one with him yesterday at the movies. We saw Rango.”

“And now you want to bring me.”

“Yep!”

“And pretend like nothing awful is going on?”

“Only long enough for us to breathe.”

“And get lunch.”

“Yessiree!”

“Why?”

“Well, Derek, we all need to eat, you know, even grumpy, Alpha werewolves. Or do you use photosynthesis now?”

Derek raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, and Stiles thinks he’s finally wearing him down. The Alpha had been on such a power trip lately, and likely would continue to do so, but everyone ran out of steam eventually.

“No. Why do you want to bring _me_ for this?” Derek demands, impatient and tired, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate.

“Because you need it,” he says immediately, and for a moment his and Derek’s eyes meet. Stiles tilts his head and adds, a little softer, “Because you deserve it.”

Silence. Silence for a long few moments, until Stiles realizes he isn’t going to be getting a response and he cringes. “Listen… I’m sorry,” he begins, but Derek doesn’t respond. Not even a raised eyebrow. “For accusing you of murder, mostly, and then…” he takes a deep breath and reconsiders. Readjusts.

“What _good_ thing has happened to you since you came back to Beacon Hills?” he suddenly asks, shuffling his feet but forcing his gaze to stay on Derek. “Has anything?” Something flickers across Derek’s expression before it closes off, but it’s something. “I’m not saying I’m some kind of savior here or anything, but… Dude, I don’t know, I’d just like to _be there_ for you because I think you deserve _someone_ to be.”

More silence and Stiles is breathing a little heavy and even he can hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Okay, so maybe that was a bit too honest, but it’s true. With their last mystery settled and Peter Hale and Kate Argent out of the mix, it had given Stiles some time to think about his own actions. Which led to him thinking about his mistakes. Which led to him thinking about Derek. Which led to him thinking about all those coping methods he’d looked up where people coat themselves in mean, nastiness to keep themselves safe. Which led to Stiles thinking about all the reasons Derek would have to protect himself from the world around him.

And Stiles doesn’t think he deserves any of it. Derek was an asshole and could be mean and pushed people around, but he’d shown he wanted to do what was right… right? He’d bit Jackson, sure, but that was likely to get him to go away. Isaac, though…

Isaac had needed a rescue, and Derek had provided it.

Probably irresponsible by some level, especially when Isaac was almost immediately arrested then went wolf-crazy, but it was the thought that counts, right?

Still, Stiles thinks there’s a side to Derek he has been adamantly ignoring – a soft, squishy side, perhaps? – and he normally wouldn’t feel bad. He hadn’t felt bad with Jackson, after all, but Jackson had other friends to tide him over. Who did Derek have?

Well, now Derek would have Stiles, whether he liked it or not.

“And what does Scott think?” Derek’s question is so out of the blue that it takes Stiles a few seconds to process what has been asked of him. It doesn’t help that Derek says it in such a quiet, un-Derek voice.

“Scott? What about him?” Stiles asks, completely confused, and Derek snarls.

“Scott has made it clear he is not interested in my pack, but he’s fine with you—”

But Stiles cuts him off, because he can see where this is going. “Scott’s my best friend, not my owner. This isn’t about your stupid feud – and yes, I think it’s stupid and we should be working together right now because this is _stupid_ – and this is _my_ decision and my actions. End of story. Fin. Done and done. Thank you, goodnight.”

Derek’s brows both inch up his head, clearly not expecting that response, and Stiles groans.

“Breathe Breaks are neutral ground, alright? That’s the whole point! You don’t bring drama into a Breathe Break! Now, are you going to grab lunch with me or not? Because at this rate all the lunch specials everywhere are going to end.”

Derek looks away, off at nothing, and doesn’t reply. He’s thinking, Stiles can tell by the pinched look on his face, and he waits impatiently.

His feet begin to tap as time goes on, then his fingers start twitching. By the time he starts swaying Derek has, finally, made a decision.

“Alright,” he grunts, then moves to walk past Stiles and out the train depot. “But I pick where we eat.”

Stiles stands there, flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing a few times in astonishment. He’d been gearing up to continue arguing, something truly impressive and influential, and Derek had just… agreed?

“Stiles!” Derek barks from outside, sharp and impatient, and the teen scrambles, trips, then hurries to catch up with Derek so they can go eat lunch together.

**VvvvV**

Stiles is not a lazy teen. He plays lacrosse, after all, and he tries to make sure that his workouts during practice aren’t his only workouts. He wasn’t a heavy lifter, he wasn’t buff, and he wasn’t coordinated, but he was fast. And he had decent enough stamina, he supposes.

So, running is a regular enough thing for him. He has running shoes and sometimes, when his brain gets too loud or there’s way too much energy in his bones, he’ll go out for a jog around his neighborhood. He doesn’t usually bring music, because it doesn’t help his blurring, jittering thoughts, and instead allows the controlled adrenaline rush to wash over him.

Ever since Scott was bit, however, and everything went to shit and there were threats around every corner, Stiles has been less eager to go out on his own. He’d ask Scott to join him but running actually had the opposite effect on him, unless it was in the woods and he could transform.

Which left Stiles where he was now, after school on a Monday, his brain unable to just _shut up_ for three seconds. It wasn’t panic inducing; it was just a LOT. It made him want to lie down and shut off for a while, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. He needed to run. And he couldn’t do it alone.

Which is why he marches right up to the train depot after school – after dropping by his house to change into something more running friendly – and locks onto Isaac Lahey’s form lounging on a torn-up couch nearby.

Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was running on a similar power trip that Derek has been, but he was learning that douchebags were like dogs, and not because these particular ones were werewolves. There was a way to approach them, and Stiles thinks he has this figured out.

“Derek’s not here,” Isaac calls without looking up, but it doesn’t surprise Stiles. He stops beside the arm of the ratty couch and grins down at the werewolf. Isaac’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Alright, but I’m not here for him,” Stiles announces, then shoves at one of Isaac’s feet until it lands on the ground to the side. “I’m here because I need to go on a run and get my brain to shut up for three second, but I need somebody like you to join me so no superbaddie tries to kill me.”

“Like me? Why not Scott?” Isaac demands, finally shifting to sit on the couch normally, elbows leaning against his knees, and a glare thrown Stiles’s way.

“He’s awful with runs unless he can wolf out and sprint through the trees. Plus, he’s still all wrapped up in Allison, so…” Stiles claps his hands and grins a bit brighter. “I choose you! Go change into something you can actually run in and let’s head out!”

He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t allow Isaac the chance to argue with him, and instead heads out of the train depot to wait. Only a few seconds later, however, Isaac is also coming out, still dressed in his jeans and that ridiculous leather jacket. Is Derek trying to build a gang instead of a pack?

“You realize I’m a fugitive, right?” Isaac drawls, not looking impressed, but something falters when Stiles doesn’t respond with anything but an eyeroll and snark.

“Yes, I’m aware, but who would actually connect the fugitive, Isaac Lahey, with the guy wearing a t-shirt, sweatpants, and out jogging with the Sheriff’s kid?” Stiles huffs, then makes a shooing motion at Isaac. “So go change already, I need to get moving or I’ll vibrate so hard I’ll melt!”

“Yes. Do that,” Isaac snarks right back, but then Stiles is shoving him, still not afraid nor impressed. “What are you even doing here? We’re enemies!”

“No, we aren’t,” Stiles says immediately, no flinch in his voice or stutter in his heart. Isaac seems to notice.

“Yes… we are…” That sounds more like a question than a statement. “You’re friends with McCall.”

“I am,” Stiles agrees, giving up on shoving Isaac. The werewolf isn’t going anywhere if he doesn’t want to.

“So we’re enemies.”

“No, we aren’t.”

Isaac suddenly looks very lost and the show he’d been putting on since he’d been bit abruptly crumbles, replaced with uncertainty. He looks like a kicked puppy. Stiles really hopes he doesn’t learn how to weaponize that look.

“Listen, we disagree on some points, but that doesn’t make us enemies. I’ve been trying to convince Derek AND Scott of that for a while now, but I don’t think they’re listening,” Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Plus, I figure a run could do you good, too. Open space. Activity but no threat. And you can either get lost in thought or lost in nothing.”

Isaac blinks, his fingers flexing then unflexing a few times, and his feet shuffling. “That… doesn’t sound too bad. But Derek—”

“Has already hung out with me on Saturday. If he tries to argue with you, use that against him,” Stiles scoffs and Isaac’s lips twitch upward a little bit. A shadow of a smirk, but it’s there. It’s something.

Then he’s nodding and turning around to go back into the train depot.

They end up running for nearly two hours with no issue. No one stops them to ask who Isaac is. No one calls the cops. No one pops out to attack them.

Isaac does keep dropping his phone, though, because his sweatpants have pockets too small for it and he gets so lost in his own head that his grip keeps loosening. It’s a miracle it isn’t cracked by the time they return to the train depot.

“Hey…” Isaac says, stopping Stiles before he can head for his jeep and go home. “Thanks… I think I needed that.”

“You may wanna get some wolfy running in, too,” Stiles advises, pausing by his car’s door. He’s sweating, but he feels good. Not overstrained, not hurting, and his mind finally at a reasonable buzz. “Too much energy can make your control complete shit.”

Isaac nods, seeming to take Stiles’s advise seriously. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And, hey, if you really need another run, you have my number now and my bedroom window is always open to werewolf visitors!”

Isaac arches a brow at that, smirk playing at his lips. “That sounds like there’s a story behind it.”

“Ask your Alpha,” Stiles drawls, before climbing into his jeep and heading off.

When Stiles returns home his dad is in his office and pizza has already been ordered and delivered. Stiles wants to give his father shit for not getting a salad, but he’s too hungry tonight, and there’s a sound coming from the den.

And… there Jackson Whittemore is, just sitting in the Stilinski household, probably walked in like he owns the place, playing Mass Effect on the PS3 that has near-permanently been moved down here. He already has another pizza box sitting, open, in front of him and an extra intense look on his face.

Stiles doesn’t say anything to him, instead grabbing the pizza box in the kitchen that has clearly been left out for him, and heads up to his room.

Despite everything, why is the werewolf stuff the least weird developments in Stiles’s life?

**VvvvV**

Stiles’s tongue is poking out as he incessantly taps at his phone. Text after text after text. He was not someone to be trifled with when on a mission, and he was particularly vicious when said mission was annoying the ever loving shit out of the local sourwolf of Beacon Hills.

It was the Thursday after Erica Reyes had been turned and Stiles was pretty much sick of listening to Scott moan about Allison or complain about Derek.

There is a noise just outside Stiles’s bedroom window that sounds suspiciously like a text alert, and when he looks over he yelps and topples off his bed in a tangle of limbs and baggy clothes. Derek, eyes glowing red, glares in on him for a moment longer, before pulling open the window and stepping in.

Stiles scrambles to get back up, stubbing his toe when it collides with his bed, but before he can say a word Derek is shoving his phone into his face and snarling, “Stop. Texting. Me.”

Stiles blinks at the screen, seeing the lines upon lines of text messages he’d sent, then looks past it at Derek’s glowering face. “Why didn’t you just text me back to stop?”

If anything, Derek looks even more irritated, pulling back his phone and scrolling up, up, up, then turning it to Stiles again. Sure enough, hidden amongst all the incessant ramblings is a few, scattered “Stop texting me” messages.

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh,” Derek snaps, then shoves his phone back into his jacket pocket. Such a grumpy, grumpy man. But at least he wasn’t trying to go all Alpha on Stiles yet. Just glaring as usual. “What do you want?”

“Hmm?” Stiles hums, but tries to hurry to gather his thoughts when a dangerous rumble builds in the werewolf’s chest. “Oh! Right, yeah. So, I think Thursdays should be our day,” he says brightly with a cheerful clap of his hands, then turns to his bedroom door and meanders out. It takes a moment, but Derek is following after, probably able to tell that the Sheriff isn’t home with all those super senses of his.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Derek demands, at the moment more confused than irritated, but when Stiles keeps walking he snarls, reaches out, and grabs ahold of the back of the human’s shirt, shoving him face first against the hall wall.

“Hey, watch it!” Stiles is immediately squirming to get free. He’d never be able to shove the significantly stronger man away, but he can wiggle and squirm and slide like the best of them.

Derek just shoves a little rougher, though, the length of his arm across Stiles’s upper back, crowding too close for comfort.

“Is this another one of your idiotic breathers?” Derek growls, right by Stiles’s ear, and the vibrations rattle his bones in a way he refuses to admit is pleasant.

“Okay, first off, they’re called Breathe Breaks, with capital B’s. Way more official than a silly ‘breather.’ Two, they aren’t idiotic, I could literally _see_ the tension bleed right off of you during lunch. And three, YES! It’s about the Breathe Breaks!” Stiles gives a particularly hard wiggle, but his freedom is not permitted.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Stiles? Trying to play hero?” Derek growls, suspicion and distrust dripping from every word and, really, Stiles thinks they should be beyond this by now. Stiles was clever, but he was hardly malicious or plotting. He was kind of an open book. Especially to werewolves who could hear his heartbeat.

“No more than you,” Stiles finally snaps and ducks down, leaping to the side and then spinning around to face his former captor. Derek doesn’t appear to have any intention of chasing after him, though, and is instead giving him a very strange look.

“I’m no hero, Stiles,” Derek huffs, his lip curled, and Stiles gives him a strange look back.

“Uh, yeah. I know? That’s my point!” Stiles flaps both his hands at Derek as if that will somehow translate everything he’s trying to say. “You bit a kid being abused by his father, allowing him an escape. You bit a girl with epilepsy, allowing her a cure. You like to act all big and scary, but so far everyone you aim for has been someone you could _help_.”

“Those kinds of people are more likely to accept the bite,” Derek snaps, his eyes narrowing and, yep, there’s a little red there.

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles shrugs, “But I don’t buy it.”

A growl, loud and sudden and vicious, and it is enough to have Stiles stepping back in surprise, but then Derek is shaking his head and going back to glaring. “Those who suffer pain can understand one another better. They’ll make a stronger pack.”

Okay, _that_ has Stiles’s face twisting, a mix of distaste, disappointment, and disbelief, and he says, “No it won’t.” Stiles doesn’t know what about his reaction actually gets to Derek, but a moment later the werewolf is stiffening, brows rising in surprise, and growl puttering out. He doesn’t look like he’s come to some great realization because of Stiles’s wise and wonderful words, more like he’s simply not expecting anything that is coming out of this human’s mouth.

“And besides,” Stiles moves on with a shrug, “I still don’t buy it. You wanted to help those kids for whatever reason – and that’s private, I won’t ask, I promise, even though I have some theories – and that’s what I want to do for you.”

“To help me,” Derek clarifies, back to looking suspicious and, really, was his face just on a cycle?

“Yeah, I mean,” Stiles shifts and brings a hand up to rub at his neck. “We don’t get along on the best of days, I get that, and majority of the time we’re taking turns on who wants to punch the other in the face more, but everybody deserves a place or a time to just… decompress.”

“And if I already have that?” Derek snaps, puffing up some, and Stiles turns to give him a measured look, one eyebrow arched.

“Do you?” he questions blandly, and when Derek scowls and looks away, silent, that is all the answer he needs. “Right. So! That’s what I was saying before! Thursdays! Keep your schedule open. Like right now!” Now Stiles grins and moves back towards the stairs, trotting down and in the general direction of the kitchen. “I’m no Gordon Ramsey, but keeping my dad healthy has made me quite efficient in the kitchen. Lasagna or taco salad? You pick.”

When he looks back, Stiles sees Derek standing on the stairs, his entire body screaming “what the hell is going on, how is this my life, and how do I get out?” It is absolutely hysterical, but Stiles bites his tongue to keep from laughing.

“What?”

“Lasagna or taco salad? You know, for dinner?” Stiles smiles patiently, which probably looks infuriating on his face. Derek’s eyes narrow.

“Why would you—”

“Oh my god, I literally was just saying Thursdays should be our day! You should have a time to unwind, and I’m offering my stellar ‘teen-laze-about’ skills to you.”

Derek raises one of his hands to rub at his brow, eyes squeezed shut in disbelief and exhaustion with Stiles’s antics. It was a common expression. “You want to have a weekly schedule for these… ‘Breathe Breaks.’” It’s not a question, but Stiles goes ahead and answers it.

“Well, duh! Otherwise you’re not going to keep up with taking care of yourself, you’ll procrastinate your own mental health, and then become more and more miserable than you’ve already been!” the teenager argues, moving further and further into the kitchen. “And having something scheduled with another person means you’re more likely to go out and do it. At least, that’s what my therapist used to say.”

He’s fully in the kitchen now, opening the fridge to look inside.

“You have a therapist?”

Stiles looks over to see Derek has finally, finally, moved down the stairs and is standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Had,” Stiles shrugs, “After my mom died. I don’t think I respected it enough for it to do me any good, though. Too young. Lasagna or taco salad?”

Derek stares for a long moment, measuring Stiles and his intentions up in his head, before sighing and looking away. “Taco salad is fine.”

Faster, too. Stiles gets out everything he needs and gets to work. He’s a twitchy, clumsy, spastic kid, but the moment he gets lost in something he loves, his whole presence becomes focused. He never cuts himself with the knives or burns himself on ovens or makes too much of a mess. He knows what he’s doing and his body reflects that, for once.

At some point Derek slides in and sits at the kitchen island, moving without Stiles seeing, watching the human work. Usually, Stiles would turn on some music, but he forgot his portable speakers in his room and he doesn’t want to go back up to get them.

“Why does your house smell like that Jackson kid?” Derek suddenly demands, his shoulders tensing as he sniffs and looks around.

“He barges in sometimes to play Mass Effect,” Stiles shrugs. “I think it’s some kind of reprieve for him or something, I don’t really know, but we don’t bother each other when he does so it’s cool. I think dad thinks he’s a troubled youth I’ve adopted or something.”

“Is he wrong?” Derek snorts, one brow raised, back to watching Stiles.

“Ha ha. Funny,” Stiles rolls his eyes even though Derek can only see his back. “I told Scott about it and he called me the ‘Douchebag Whisperer.’ Okay, well, no, he called me the asshole whisperer first, but that sounded like a porn superhero’s name, so we trashed it.” He hears Derek groan behind him, clearly not entertained with the commentary, but Stiles doesn’t quit. “I think it works, though, don’t you? Stiles Stilinski; Douchebag Whisperer. First it was Jackson. Then it was you,” Derek scoffs, “And then it was Isaac.”

“Isaac?”

Stiles hesitates, then looks back. Derek has straightened up and is looking at Stiles apprehensively, eyes glowing red. He looked ready to defend his Beta.

“Yeah, I like to jog, but I wanted a supernatural escort so I wouldn’t die. Asked Isaac and he agreed. Seemed to do him some good, too. Did he not tell you?”

“No…”

“It was only a few days ago,” Stiles offers slowly, not liking the way Derek was beginning to shrink into himself. This was supposed to be a time for them to relax and not think about everything they had to deal with, but it seemed there was too much that needed to be hashed out first. “Maybe he was nervous to tell you? That boy is trauma wrapped in trauma. He’s going to have some hang ups.”

“I’m his Alpha,” Derek argues, however, as if that is supposed to mean anything, and Stiles gives him a very unimpressed look. He sets all his preparations down, nothing cooking for him to worry about just yet, and fully faces the werewolf. He crosses his arms, not unlike how Derek likes to posture at him.

“So?”

Derek’s face hardens threateningly. “So, as Alpha, I need to know what’s going on with my Betas.”

“You sound like your uncle.”

It’s a bit of a low blow, and probably comes out of nowhere, but it has the desired effect of shutting Derek up and startling the werewolf to standing.

“Yeah, your uncle,” Stiles continues, fingers tapping at his arm, his focus from cooking quickly dissipating. “This whole mentality that just because you have a fancy title and special powers you have any right to boss people around. Being an Alpha doesn’t automatically make you a leader – make you someone to be trusted – you have to earn that. And if the only reason anyone is sticking around your pack is because of ‘obligation,’” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “then it’s going to fall apart pretty fast.”

“Don’t talk as if you know anything about this,” Derek is suddenly snarling, lips curling and nostrils flared and he really looks like a wild animal in that moment. “This is pack dynamics you’re talking about. You wouldn’t know anything.”

Stiles stiffens, back going straight, and his shoulders squaring. He knows he doesn’t look threatening, he’s tall and scrawny and surrounded by hot werewolves, but he can’t help the response. “Oooohoho! Seriously? Don’t act like you guys are so alien no one will ever understand you. You are as much human as you are wolf, so shut up with that shit.”

Derek growls, deep in his chest, and opens his mouth to argue, but Stiles is suddenly clapping his hands so loudly it startles the werewolf long enough for Stiles to continue. “Nope, shut up and listen for once. A pack is a family, right? A family of choice. It is something so beyond blood. Right? That means that your packmates, whoever they might be, need to choose to be part of it. They need to look at your pack and feel safe and loved and included. Not like they _have_ to be there because they owe you something.”

“When Peter spouted crap about being family, about you joining him or whatever, how much did you _want_ to be part of a pack like that? Where the only thing holding you together was blood and guilt? Do you really want to recreate that for these teens you’ve done everything you can to save?”

Derek’s eyes are wide, wider than Stiles has ever seen them, and his mouth is parted slightly in surprise. They stare at each other across the kitchen island, Stiles’s chest heaving, before he shakes himself out and releases a groan of frustration.

He hadn’t meant to explode like that, but the thought had been niggling at his brain ever since he’d started paying extra attention to Derek and his growing pack. Stiles was hardly a saint or a leader, but he was pretty good at observing other people’s behaviors and figuring out where they were going wrong. Or just being plain stupid. He’d been friends with Scott for most his life, after all.

But to just dump all his thoughts like that… He could have very well scared the Alpha off. Derek was _not_ an emotional guy and had never taken criticism well. To him, it had always been a challenge, and that reaction had likely only gotten worse with his new Alpha status. So, with a sigh, Stiles turns back around and continues preparing the food. If he wants, Derek could make his escape. Stiles doesn’t really want him to leave – and he’s aware that his past self would have a very different opinion to that sentiment if he were here – but he figures he should offer the courtesy.

It is as he is finally setting up the ground beef to cook that he spies Derek out of the corner of his eye, sitting back at the island, watching his own hands where they flex on the countertop. It makes something that had tightened up in Stiles’s belly loosen and he returns to his preparations with a bit more vigor.

When the food is finally ready and he’s served both of them a hefty helping and Derek has poured them both a glass of water, they sit at the island to eat. It’s hardly the best Breathe Break Stiles has ever seen, but at least he got Derek sitting and eating rather than looming and hunting.

Small victories.

“Before…” Derek finally speaks up halfway through his food, silencing the tap of Stiles’s fingers on the island. Stiles looks up, waiting for a continuation, and Derek scowls, looking away. “Before, when you said sharing pain wasn’t a way for people to bond. Explain.”

Stiles arches a brow at the order, trying to communicate how he’s not one of Derek’s Betas he can push around, but sighs and answers anyway. “Both Scott and me have lost a parent,” he starts with, getting Derek’s eyes on him once more. They’re nice eyes, he thinks absently. A mossy green to contrast the Alpha red they can glow. “Mine to death, Scott’s to divorce. Different kinds of pain, like your Betas, but still something. We were always close, but after all that… we got closer.”

“It sounds like you’re proving me right, then,” Derek sneers, baring his teeth. When they aren’t huge, wolfy fangs they kind of look like rabbit teeth, and that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

Stiles shakes his head, though. “No, see, the thing is, your Betas are going to be able to understand each other better than other people. The sympathy there? Totally legit. I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to _bond_.” Stile pauses to shovel some more food into his mouth because, emotional as this conversation might be, he’s a hungry boy.

“And how _would_ they bond?” Derek questions, sounding patronizing, like he’s just humoring Stiles now, and he rolls his eyes.

“Easy,” Stiles shrugs, swallows his food, then points his fork at the werewolf. “By healing together. And they’re gonna need help with that, oh dear Alpha, so make sure you step up when the time is right.”

Derek is silent for the rest of dinner, mostly lost in his own head, but Stiles doesn’t mind. He begins to mumble to himself, going over some study material for a test in English, repeating a few of the scientific names for the variations of wolfsbane, laughing about some sports trivia he’d learned the other day, and reciting the entire Bee Movie script.

When Derek does leave, he’s still silent, but when Stiles calls out that he expects to see him next Thursday he gets a flippant wave over the shoulder before Derek is disappearing into the night.

**VvvvV**

Stiles has been knocked out by a piece of his own car, thrown into a dumpster, dragged his precious jeep to a mechanic, tried to do the math for how much he’d owe for repairs, got paralyzed, witnessed his mechanic literally _crushed and splattered with Stiles’s own jeep,_ and stared into the eyes of a monster.

He covers everything with thick, thick layers of sarcasm, pretending he’s “too cool for school,” assures his dad and Scott that he’ll be fine, and then sits in his too-quiet house, vibrating out of his skin as the shadows close in on him.

The panic builds like bile and he tries to catch his breath as everything comes crashing down on him because he is definitely _not okay._

He texts his father and is honest for the first time in a while.

**To: Dad**

**[I don’t feel great being alone in the house]**

Then, immediately, he jumps back to lying because he’s a terrible, horrible son.

**To: Dad**

**[Don’t hurry home. I’ll crash with scott]**

**From: Dad**

**[Okay. Be safe. I love you.]**

**To: Dad**

**[Love you too]**

Then Stiles is digging out the bike he hasn’t used in a long while and takes off. It isn’t the safest move, especially after what happened, but Stiles is desperate and he can’t wait in his house, alone, anymore.

He drops the bike when he finally gets to the train depot, not caring to prop it up, and walks in in a haze. He doesn’t call out, he knows Derek and Isaac would have heard him coming, and he isn’t expecting the other two Betas – the newest one being Vernon “don’t call me by my first name” Boyd – to be around this time of night.

He should have expected the other two Betas to be around this time of night.

Boyd is freshly bit, perhaps that’s why the whole pack is around, but before Stiles even sees or hears anyone, there is a snarl and something colliding with his front. He slams onto the concrete painfully, seeing stars when his head bounces, but thankfully staying conscious as Erica’s snarling face comes into focus above him. Her eyes are glowing yellow, her lips are pulled back gleefully to show fangs, and there are definite claws in Stiles’s shoulder.

“What do we have here?” Erica says, probably trying to sound menacing, but she hasn’t got a hang of her fangs yet so it comes out a little lisp-y. Plus, the panic that has been flooding Stiles’s system for a while, now, makes him kind of numb to everything else.

“Erica! Enough!” someone commands firmly, voice booming through the dark depot, and the blond rolls her eyes, kisses in Stiles’s direction, then stands and moves out of the way.

Stiles doesn’t get back up. He’s dazed physically and mentally.

He thinks he hears a lecture off to his side, but he doesn’t care, because a moment later another blond is poking their head into his sight.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Isaac asks, voice soft, as if the werewolves around them couldn’t hear him. Stiles knows better, though. After a few beats of silence Isaac’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and he moves to help Stiles sit up. Thankfully, it doesn’t make the human’s head spin.

He can feel the other werewolves watching him, now. Derek and Erica are facing off, clearly having been the source of the lecture Stiles had been hearing, and Boyd stands at a distance, watchful and silent. Isaac stays in Stiles’s space, hand on his back to steady him. It’s clear the extended silence from the human is weirding them out.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac whispers, even quieter than before, and Stiles realizes he’s trying not to spook him, which is totally sweet and totally not his biggest hang up at the moment.

“I saw somebody get murdered today.” It comes tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself, deceptively casual. For a moment nothing happens, likely no one processing the abrupt announcement, but then Isaac’s eyes are widening and Derek is suddenly _right there,_ big, heavy hand on Stiles’s right shoulder.

“What?” Isaac squeaks as Derek looks the human over.

“Are you alright?” the Alpha demands and Stiles begins to nod. He nods a few times, like he’s trying to convince himself, and then his face is pinching and the nods change to shakes of his head.

The hand on his shoulder and the hand on his back both press a little harder, like Derek and Isaac are trying to hold him together.

“What happened?” comes a calm voice and Stiles looks up to see Boyd has moved closer and is watching carefully. He looks confused, like he doesn’t understand why Stiles is there, and Erica’s bafflement is written all over her face.

“There was a monster,” Stiles breathes, trying to shake off the tremors going through his body, but they don’t seem to want to go away. “Something with weird, lizard eyes. I think it left something on the door handle at the mechanic’s and when I touched it, it paralyzed me, but I could see out this low window on the floor and…”

He has to stop and shudder. Why was the monster the easy thing to handle? Yeah, it was a monster, and it freaked Stiles out, but it had felt par for the course at this point. The other thing, though…

Isaac is suddenly pressing up against Stiles’s side and resting his forehead on the human’s left shoulder. Not a hug, there isn’t any wrapping up with arms. Just a press and a presence meant to offer comfort.

It feels very wolfy. Stiles wonders what it means about himself that it works.

“My mechanic got paralyzed too and then his head was underneath the hydraulic lift holding up my jeep and someone, I guess the monster, began to lower it. The guy’s head burst like a fucking pimple and now I can’t get the stupid, fucking sound of screaming and skull cracking out of my head!”

His hands suddenly move to press, hard, against his temples and his eyes squeeze shut. The gore hadn’t bothered him as much as he thinks it should have, but he’d always been fascinated by stuff like that. He’d gone looking for a bisected body in the woods, for goodness sake. He’d seen Peter Hale’s neck slit. He was a teenage boy who quite liked violent video games.

But the _sound._ Good god, it would haunt his dreams.

He doesn’t realize he’s not breathing, or that he can’t hear anything, or that the world has narrowed down to a fine, unclear point until someone is giving him an abrupt shake. He tries to claw his awareness back, at least a little, and the wave of voices crashes back in.

“No, don’t shake him! He’s having a panic attack, give him space.” That’s Erica. Why does Erica know how to handle panic attacks? Was that another epilepsy thing he didn’t know?

He hears Derek grunt and the shaking, thankfully, stops.

Then a hand, smaller than the boys’ and with painted nails, grabs Stiles’s wrist and his palm is being pressed to a soft chest. Stiles looks up, eyes catching with Erica’s, far softer than when she’d attacked him only moments before.

“Hey, Stiles,” she says, voice remarkably controlled and level and it sounds weird for her. Stiles can’t say that, though, because his throat and lungs aren’t cooperating and he’s heaving, trying to suck in air but forgetting how. “Hey, okay, it’s okay. Sorry I tackled you. Can you try to match my breathing, though? Please? Long and even, nothing crazy, I promise.”

Beneath Stiles’s hand he feels her taking exaggerated, deep breaths. One after another. On Stiles’s left, he feels a similar rise and fall and he realizes Isaac is still there, matching the breaths he sees Erica taking, trying to encourage Stiles to do the same.

Stiles keeps gasping, though, staring and lost and black spots building in his vision. His mouth works, either to talk or breathe he doesn’t know, but Erica doesn’t seem to mind. She just keeps breathing and staring, not wavering, until finally something inside Stiles clicks and he gulps down a huge chunk of air. It doesn’t match Erica and Isaac, though, and he loses his pattern, fumbling and gasping again, and trying again.

He keeps trying and failing, but Erica keeps staring and talking and breathing and it must pay off. Something must work, because Stiles is eventually able to match her and a weak smile blooms on her face. It’s a nice smile, and it encourages Stiles to take a few more breaths, before his shoulders sag and he can breathe on his own.

“Jesus,” he hears Isaac gasp, sounding as exhausted as Stiles feels, and Stiles has a feeling he must know what it’s like to go through all this, too. They all probably do…

“Sorry,” Stiles whispers, but there’s a squeeze on his shoulder and he’d forgotten Derek was there too. His shoulder actually feels kind of sore, now, if he’s being honest, and he wonders how hard Derek had been holding on. He wonders if he’ll have bruises.

“You’re fine,” the Alpha replies, denying Stiles’s apology, and Stiles sags a bit more.

Then he looks up at Erica. He has no idea why she knew what to do, but he’s grateful. He’s really grateful, and he hopes his smile isn’t too exhausted. “Thank you,” he mumbles and she smiles a little wider. More confident. It’s still a pretty great smile. “And, uh,” he looks down at his hand that is still pressed against her chest, “Sorry for touching your boob.”

Erica releases a sudden, loud laugh, clearly not insulted, and lets go of Stiles’s wrist. Beside him, Isaac shakes with his own giggles and Derek shakes his head in disbelief. The water bottle that is shoved into Stiles’s face startles him, though, and he looks up at Boyd in surprise. The werewolf looks as calm as ever and Stiles takes the water from him with wide eyes.

“Thanks,” he mumbles and Boyd nods before taking a step back.

Somehow, they end up migrating to the awful couch that Stiles had seen Isaac napping on before. Stiles sits beside the blond boy while Erica perches on an armrest and Derek and Boyd stand in front of them.

“I didn’t mean for all that to happen,” Stiles sighs, almost done with his water, and sees Erica shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“Nobody does,” she says, like that’s it, and maybe it is.

“You saw a dude get his head popped. I think you’re allowed,” Isaac tacks on, smirking a little, and the normalcy of the action helps ease some of the jittering in Stiles’s gut.

“You said it was a monster,” Derek is cutting in. Down to business as ever, but Stiles doesn’t mind. After all, the monster hadn’t been the thing to set Stiles off, and talking about it and what they could do should help him calm down some.

“Yeah. I have no idea what, though,” he replies with a nod, looking up. “All I could think was ‘reptile’ when I saw the eyes. Are there a lot of reptilian supernatural creatures? Is that something we should be worried about?”

“Possibly,” Derek says slowly, looking thoughtful. “Where you are located can make a difference, but not much. Did you see anything else?”

“I… think it had a tail? Really long and smooth. I don’t know if that paralytic had any hallucinogens in it, though. I’ve never seen or felt anything like it!”

“Did the monster make it?” Boyd questions, his brows furrowed and he kind of looks like Derek for a moment. Like a way more chill Derek. Stiles tries not to laugh.

“I don’t know where it came from. If it was made in a lab or excreted by mini-godzilla. That is such a gross word, too. Have you ever noticed? Excreted. Excreted. Excreted. Oh, wait, no, I said it enough it just lost its meaning,” Stiles begins to ramble, which feels far more natural, and Derek gives him a stare.

“Stiles,” the Alpha says firmly, demanding the teen focus without saying the words, and Stiles raises his hands placatingly.

“Right, right, sorry, sorry.”

“Do you think you’re in danger?” Derek asks next and Stiles hesitates on that one. Isaac stiffens beside him, but he pays him no mind.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “It looked right at me. Right into my _soul_ , dude, but it didn’t kill me, and it had the perfect chance. I couldn’t move to stop it but… yeah, I don’t know.”

“That probably means it has an agenda,” Boyd observes, head tilted. “It wanted your mechanic, specifically, dead.”

“It’s targeting people,” Derek agrees with a nod.

“Can I crash here?” Stiles abruptly asks because it’s been killing him. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin any moment and he just… needs to be somewhere, and this place feels safe. Not because of the location because, ew, no, but the people. He hardly knows any of them, honestly, but he knows they wouldn’t kill him. He, inexplicably, trusts them. At least with this.

“Wouldn’t you rather be in a proper bed?” Derek questions, arching a brow and looking at Stiles a little lost.

“I’d rather not be alone, actually,” Stiles replies, “And my dad thinks I’m at Scott’s, so no worries about that.”

“Why not go to Scott’s, then?” Derek continues to question.

“Because, at the moment, every single person I am associated with is stressing me out, but you guys are stressing me out the least. That good enough for you? Can I stay or not?” Stiles says a little harsher than he means to, but the affronted twist to Derek’s face makes Isaac and Erica cackle, so he takes it as a win.

“Fine,” Derek sighs, eyes rolling as he turns away, and Stiles can’t help but grin.

Turns out, while Boyd and Erica do have homes they can return to, the pack has training scheduled for the next day and have decided to all camp out at the depot for the night, which works for Stiles.

Derek, apparently, crashes inside one of the train cars, and while Isaac usually does as well, tonight he curls up on the ratty sofa while Erica and Boyd collapse on two, twin sized mattresses that have been dragged in.

It leaves Stiles with very few options, but then he figures Isaac must have his own terrible, infested mattress in the train car, so Stiles goes to claim it for the night.

“You all look homeless,” Stiles comments when Derek looks up at him. The Alpha narrows his eyes, but Stiles shrugs at him. “What? You do! And you and Isaac basically are. Why haven’t you gotten an apartment, yet?”

Derek huffs and sits on the edge of his terrible, awful mattress. It makes Stiles a little sick and, yes, he knows werewolves can’t get sick, but what about basic comforts?

“Not many people want to take the money of an ex-fugitive,” he growls, making Stiles flinch in sympathy. Right. The fugitive thing. Stiles still felt incredibly guilty over that.

“You want me to get my dad to help?” Stiles offers, finding Isaac’s abandoned corner of the train car and plopping down. “He may be cautious with you, but he’d be super upset if he finds out someone isn’t being treated fairly. He could totally flash his badge and everything. You just have to have enough money for the location.”

“Rather not get the police involved. Especially since I’m sheltering another fugitive,” Derek comments, arching a brow, and Stiles nods.

“Fair enough… Want _me_ to help? If you think I’m annoying when I’m just talking, imagine what I’m like when I’m _trying._ I could wear down anybody! Just point me in the direction you need me in and let me lose!”

Derek stares at him for a long moment, before snorting and rolling his eyes. “You’re like the yappy dog that chases off mailmen because they can’t see how tiny you are through the door,” Derek comments dryly and its so unexpected it gets Stiles falling back and laughing with all his might.

When he straightens and grins at the Alpha, a small, sheepish smile is playing at Derek’s face. “I’ll take it. But seriously, dude. Apartment. House. Anything. You need one.”

“Noted,” Derek snorts, then lays back on his awful mattress and falls asleep.

**VvvvV**

Stiles decides to sit in on the pack training the following day. He texts his father, tells him he’s going to go jogging, feels terrible about himself for a little bit, then goes and finds a spot to sit and watch.

About ten minutes in it is taking every fiber of his self-control to not get up in Derek’s face and scream at him. What even was this? What was he even watching? This wasn’t training, this was _torture_.

If he was being completely honest, he could see Derek’s angle. He’d lost _so much_ already. He’d lost his entire family, his entire pack, once before. He’d lost his sister and uncle less than a month ago. He’d lost the opportunity for a pack when Scott had denied him. In his head, losing these three teens was not an option and tough love seemed to be the only way he could handle things.

That didn’t make it okay, though. That didn’t make it efficient. If anything, this would drive them all away even faster. That choice they would make, that desire to feel safe and loved that Stiles had talked to Derek about before, was going to come up a lot sooner rather than later.

When Erica challenges Derek and he throws her around and then _breaks Isaac’s arm_ , however, Stiles has had enough.

“Running sounds like a good idea!” he’s saying loudly, standing up so fast his own head spins, and then he’s moving over. “I think everybody should go running! Get some excess energy out! That’s a good idea, that’s a great idea, you guys should do that!”

Erica looks up for that, judging by how she’s eying the exit, but nobody actually moves. Not when Derek’s glowing, red eyes are slowly turning to stare at Stiles, danger wafting off him like smoke. Stiles forces himself not to stand down, however, because damn it he’s right on this.

“We’re training,” Derek says very slowly, shifting in Stiles’s direction. His claws are out, Stiles notices.

“Yeah? Well now you’re running,” Stiles shoots right back, putting his foot down because no. No, no, no. This isn’t working and if no one does something it’s just going to get worse.

Because, you know what? These four deserve each other. They deserve a pack and a home and safety and love, but if they want it to work and not fall apart, they’re going to have to put in effort. And that starts with Derek.

Stiles moves to help Isaac up, careful not to jostle his healing arm, and then he hooks his free arm with one of Erica’s. When he begins to move them to the exit, Boyd shifts to follow, looking between Derek and Stiles like he has no clue what to do.

“We are not going running,” Derek is suddenly booming, voice thick with something extra, and the three Betas freeze and something inside Stiles boils.

He pushes Isaac towards Boyd before rounding on Derek, fists tight at his sides. “Don’t you dare try to Alpha me, asshole, it won’t work on me!” he snaps, eyes locked on the glowing, furious, red pair in front of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh? And don’t try and spew that werewolf _crap_ , because it won’t work! This isn’t training, this is torture!”

“They don’t have to fear the same things a vulnerable human like you fears,” Derek spews his werewolf crap anyway, because of course he does, and Stiles snarls in frustration.

“Just because they can heal physically doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting them, you… you… moron!” Stiles shakes out his head, scrubbing his palms over his buzzed hair, and grumbles, “I’m too angry to come up with a decent insult.”

“Stiles, calm down,” one of the Betas says, but he’s too angry to notice which, and then Derek is stepping towards him, all menacing and muscly and it would be super attractive on any other day if Stiles wasn’t fuming at him.

“You saw what happens when someone challenges an Alpha,” Derek rumbles, deep and threatening, and Erica whimpers, which just sets Stiles off again.

“I saw what happens when somebody challenges _you,_ you fucking dictator! You can’t demand respect, you earn it! And eventually your demands will go too far and that _obligation_ they feel towards you isn’t going to last.” Derek’s eyes narrow when Stiles puts emphasis on the word “obligation” and his lips thin. “So yes! Yes, I am challenging your leadership, _Peter_.”

There’s silence for a few beats, Stiles heaving for breath and glaring back and forth with a silently fuming Alpha. From behind him, Stiles hears the Betas shifting anxiously before Isaac whispers, “Who’s Peter?”

The question makes Derek growl, deep and threatening, and Isaac whimpers. Stiles snarls right back, shifting to stand more between the three Betas and their idiotic Alpha. Derek glares at him, like he thinks his stare alone will boil Stiles alive, but then his eyes flicker past the human and he falters. Just enough.

“You three go run,” Derek is suddenly ordering and the Betas, with little hesitation, hurry out of the train depot and towards the forest. Stiles watches them go, some of the tension leaking from his shoulders, and then Derek is in his space and crowding him against the side of one of the train cars.

“I could kill you,” Derek growls, so low and deep it vibrates through his chest and into Stiles’s. The human waits a moment, then looks up at red eyes.

“You could,” he agrees with a nod.

“I could bite you. Turn you,” Derek continues, leaning down and letting his fangs drop. They seem larger now that he’s an Alpha.

“You could,” Stiles nods again, “But you won’t. Because you’re a good person, and you want to do what’s right, but all you’re doing is shoving them away.” Stiles waggles his arms in the general direction the Betas had fled in. Derek pauses, eyes flicking sideways after his pack, but then refocuses on Stiles.

“They need to be ready,” Derek growls and Stiles nods. Now that the Betas are away, not getting beat to a pulp, the anger Stiles had been fueled on fades away to something manageable, replaced by a weird calmness in the face of Derek’s fury.

“I agree,” he replies, “But not like this. You have to support these guys, not tear them down. They won’t trust you when all this is over.” Stiles pauses, trying to think of a way to explain himself, his fingers jittering against the train car behind him. “In school, some teachers treat me like I’m stupid because I have ADHD. I’m smart, I can keep up in my classes just fine, but it’s not thanks to the teachers and I rarely have any love for the subjects. I’m just doing it to get through and be done.”

Derek is staring at him, his body so still he looks like a statue, and anger is still bleeding off him, but at least Stiles has his attention.

“Except… in fifth grade, there was this teaching assistant, Miss. Fitzgerald. She was young and new and she pulled me aside after class to help tutor me. She got me these specialized tests, less choices on the multiple choice, more fill in the blank, and for essays I was allowed to go in a separate room with her to do it orally. For projects she helped me schedule everything, gave me extra deadlines so I worked on it in smaller increments. It was the best I’ve ever done at school – _ever_ – just because someone adjusting how I was taught so I could succeed like everyone else.”

“Are you saying my Betas need special help?” Derek snarls, and that has Stiles looking up at him so sharply he closes his lips.

“Are you saying I do?” the human snarls right back, just without the fangs, and Derek at least has the good grace to look guilty. Stiles takes a breath. “I’m saying your approach needs to be different. Literally no one learns the same way. Some people have flashcards. Some people make powerpoints. Some people talk to themselves. And, you know what? Some people respond well to being broken down first, but I highly doubt three, traumatized teens are going to fit into that category. They’ve already _been_ torn down.”

Derek swallows and Stiles thinks he’s finally getting through to this idiot.

“I don’t know what those three will respond best to,” Stiles continues, a little softer, and because he’s getting sick of holding his hands still he reaches out to tug at the hem of Derek’s tank top, adjusting it where it had ridden up during the “training.” “But it’s kind of your responsibility to figure that out. As a _leader_.”

Derek’s stomach muscles twitch where Stiles’s fingers brush, but he doesn’t move away so he must not mind. Maybe he’s ticklish? Oh god, Stiles would lose it if that were true.

“I don’t know how,” the Alpha is suddenly whispering and his head falls, ducked down so Stiles can’t see his face, and the human is momentarily shocked by the admission.

“That’s fine,” he breathes and raises his hands to, instead, cup either side of Derek’s jaw and move his head so they’re looking at each other again. It’s an incredibly intimate gesture, but Stiles can’t bring himself to care. “I have a feeling, if you ask, your pack will want to help.”

“I can’t show weakness in front of my Betas,” Derek argues, looking comically affronted, but Stiles just snorts at him and rolls his eyes.

“Asking for help isn’t a weakness, Sourwolf,” Stiles berates. “Besides, everyone has weaknesses. I know that, you know that, and your pack knows that. Admitting to them helps build trust or something.”

Derek arches a brow at the last part. “Is that another lesson from your therapist?”

“I think so? She wanted me to talk to my dad more about ‘feelings,’ or whatever.”

“Someone wanted you to talk _more?_ ” Derek smirks and Stiles pinches one of his cheeks since his hands are still framing his face.

“Hush, I’m being epic, here, don’t take that away from me,” he grumbles and Derek has the audacity to smirk. Asshole. “My dad has some self-defense books at the house – I know all the places to punch a dude’s face to get him to back off – and I get they aren’t crazy helpful for werewolves, but maybe the teaching methods could help?”

Derek hums, not really answering, but at least showing he heard the offer. Stiles nods and lowers his hands from the Alpha’s face, already trying to catalogue which books in his house would be good for Derek to check out.

Once he thinks he has a good, mental list and he comes back to himself, he realizes Derek has taken a step back, giving Stiles room to move, and his eyes are glued on the depot’s exit. Stiles glances over, wondering how far the Betas ran, then looks back to Derek.

“You all should do something together,” Stiles suggests, a bit more sheepish than everything else he’d been saying before, and Derek looks at him with a raised brow. “Like how you and me have Thursdays—”

“That isn’t a thing. We’ve only done that once,” Derek interrupts and Stiles gives him a bland look.

“Once, with plans to continue to do so. Don’t be rude,” Stiles huffs, even though Derek not being rude would basically be a Christmas miracle in March. “Anyway! Why not do something similar with your pack? Maybe Sundays you all can go off to do something? I can even tag along the first few times as a human referee!”

Derek gives him a strange look. Not a glare or anything, but definitely strange. “You would want to come on pack bonding events?” he questions very slowly.

“I mean… Sure? Despite everything I can’t help but like you guys a little. I’ve never had spectacular self-preservation instincts, after all,” he grins and now Derek’s expression is more familiar. Exasperated.

“Right. You’re a breakable human who just challenged an Alpha in front of his pack,” Derek drawls, unimpressed, but Stiles just keeps grinning.

“See? I’m a walking disaster! Of course I’d want to be friends with you psychos,” Stiles cackles, then walks towards Derek and nudges him in the direction of the exit. “Anyway, I think I have an idea. Think you can track your wayward Betas?” Derek’s eyebrows communicate that he can, obviously, track his Betas and Stiles is an idiot for asking.

They head out to the forest until stopping somewhere… seemingly random. Stiles doesn’t see anybody, but he thinks he might hear leaves rustling and hurried footsteps. The Betas are nearby, just out of sight, which means they’ll be able to hear Stiles.

The human still cups his hands around his mouth, anyway, as he yells, “New plan! Derek is going to hunt you all down and try to pin you! Your job is to avoid him and throw off his scent! If he catches you, you have to join his team! Last Beta standing gets to pick where we eat!”

When he drops his hands and turns, Derek is giving him a perplexed look, one eyebrow raised, and it really does feel like his eyebrows alone have their own language. Right now they’re saying, “really?”

“Self-defense rule number one,” Stiles says, even though he has no idea at all if there are any set rules for self-defense, “Getting away is the most important part.”

“Until they can fight, they should know how to get away and get help,” Derek observes, glancing out at the trees, before nodding in acceptance. Training and pack bonding all in one go. Double wammy.

“Alright! Begin in five! Four!” Derek shoots off into the trees before Stiles can finish, nearly knocking the human over in the process, and Stiles squawks indignantly. “Three two one, run!”

In the end, Boyd manages to avoid detection best, silently stalking through the woods while Isaac and Erica bound around noisily. He picks an Indian place they order from and eat lunch back at the depot. There’s still a distinct tension between the four of them, but it isn’t as bad as during their “training,” and they manage to relax as the day goes on.

Stiles manages to shock the pack with his excessive knowledge of the male circumcision. Boyd and Isaac look horrified, Derek look resigned to his fate, while Erica won’t stop laughing and asking ludicrous questions that Stiles somehow managed to always have an answer for. Then Boyd dares Isaac to eat the hottest thing they ordered and they laugh as Isaac’s whole face turns red from the spice. At one point Derek sneezes from something he ate and it’s so loud they joke he has a “dad sneeze.” And the day is wrapped up when Erica beats the boys at a burping contest that no one takes blame for starting.

All in all, it could have been a lot worse.

**VvvvV**

Stiles kind of wants to kill Derek right now. Just a little bit. Just a teensy-tiny bit. Just an itsy-bitsy, tiny bit.

Okay, maybe a lot.

Like, a lot a lot.

Because that jackass has decided that Lydia MUST be the kanima and that she needs to die immediately, because Alpha werewolves apparently get to play judge, jury, and executioner, and Stiles gets they aren’t _technically_ close buds and he’s not pack, but he would have liked to believe his opinion on the matter would have meant something. His opinion mostly being, “What the fuck are you doing, jackass, you haven’t proven anything!”

Because Lydia being immune to the paralytic venom – and they know, now, that it is a venom excreted by the kanima’s claws because Derek and Erica snuck Stiles out a few nights ago to talk and Stiles had to hold Derek up in a pool for _two hours_ – doesn’t actually prove anything. She was immune to the bite, and now she’s immune to kanima venom. If anything, it probably means that she’s something else entirely and is immune to a lot of things, not that she’s the kanima.

And then that jackass Alpha and his jackass pack cornered them in Scott’s house and Stiles is so, so done with this bullshit and he is definitely going to give Derek a piece of his mind on Thursday. And then the whole pack on Sunday.

Because yes, damn it, he’s still dragging them out to take care of themselves. He’d said these Breathe Breaks were meant to be neutral ground and he meant that.

But that did not mean he wasn’t going to speak his fucking mind when given the chance.

First, though, there’s the issue of the _actual kanima,_ who is _definitely Jackson,_ fleeing into the night and a very confused Lydia standing before them.

Stiles thinks he could scream because this day just can’t give him a break, can it?

Derek runs after the kanima, Allison takes Lydia home, the Hale pack fucking disappears into the night, and Scott drags Stiles to his jeep to chase after Jackson. And, of course, the logical outcome to all of this would be Stiles standing amidst a bunch of drag queens in a gay bar.

Of course.

Because that’s his life.

But Stiles doesn’t have time to bemoan what his life has turned into, because they actually are on a mission and they have to find Danny, even though Stiles has no idea why Jackson would want to target his best friend. It seems out of the blue. Even if they’d had a fight of some kind, why would Jackson’s subconscious, lizard brain want to target Danny?

There’s more to this than they know, Stiles pieces together, but he’ll have to figure it out another time. For now…

“Locked on target,” Stiles suddenly announces, getting Scott’s attention where he’d been trying to scan the dancefloor. Stiles points, instead, down the bar where their classmate is speaking to a bartender, eying the dancefloor in interest.

“Right on time, too,” Scott says back, nudging Stiles’s side and then jabbing his chin up towards the rafters. “Look.”

The dark cloaks the kanima very efficiently, but his glowing eyes stand out like spotlights when looking right at him. It is all kinds of terrifying and Stiles feels every organ inside of him jump up to his throat.

They really have to get to Danny, and fast.

“Hey, excuse me?” Stiles suddenly lunges sideways across the bar, gut jamming into the corner painfully, absolutely no grace in his movements. The drag queens who had been cooing over him earlier must find him endearing, though, because they smile at him and lean forwards as well. “You guys—gals? Guy-gals? Uh…” the smiles only grow in amusement as Stiles flounders. “You lovely, gorgeous people who don’t confine yourselves to gender norms!” he settles on.

“Yes, honey?” says one of the drag queens, head tilted.

“Think you could help me get to my friend over there?” he motions to Danny across the busy club, “It’s kind of urgent.”

The drag queens pause to look at each other, murmuring amongst themselves, before shrugging and agreeing. They must be bored if they were humoring two teenagers they’d just met. Or maybe Stiles really _was_ attractive to gay guys? Yeah, he was gonna go with that.

The efficiency their new friends work in is astounding, moving through the crowd and splitting it like the Red Sea, and Scott and Stiles exchange an impressed look.

“Drag queens are gonna rule the world, dude,” Scott speaks just loud enough over the bass of the music, and Stiles smirks.

Then, they’re back to business, hurrying through the temporary shift in people and nearly colliding with Danny as he begins moving in the direction of the dancefloor. Stiles turns long enough to wave happily at their helpers and one of the drag queens winks and blows him a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

Fucking superheroes, right there.

“Seriously, Scott? Again?!” Danny is snapping while Scott maneuvers him away from both the bar and the dancefloor.

“Again?” Stiles asks, confused.

“I danced with him at the Winter Formal,” Scott says quickly, like it’s nothing. “That’s not important right now, though!”

“I don’t care what stupid game you’re playing right now,” Danny snaps, trying to shake off Scott’s grip on his arms, but Scott doesn’t let up.

“Danny, we’re serious, you have to get out of here,” the werewolf attempts to explain but Stiles thinks he can actually _see_ the stubborn argument in Danny’s eyes, so he steps in.

He leans over one of Scott’s arms and sticks his face right in front of Danny’s. “Do not move your head, but look up into the rafters,” he says and Danny looks at him in confused agitation.

“What? Listen, you guys—”

“ _Look up into the rafters, Danny_ ,” Stiles says a bit more firmly, his eyes frantic, and Danny groans but does as told, if just to get the both of them away from him. His eyes tilt upward, looking around as if bored, but Stiles can see the moment Danny spots it.

Danny’s eyes snap back down, wide and horrified, and he hisses so only they can hear, “What the fuck is that?!”

“That is Jackson,” Stiles says honestly because there is absolutely no way they can explain this away. Besides, Danny deserves to know what’s going on with his best friends, even if said best friend is the biggest jerk on a good day.

“There’s a lot we have to explain,” Stiles continues and Scott finally releases Danny’s arms. He isn’t going anywhere. “But first—”

“ _Derek,_ ” Scott abruptly snarls, cutting off his friend, and Stiles looks over, confused. Scott is looking out at the club, however, and Stiles tries to see what he sees, but all he gets is flashing lights and undulating bodies. “I can smell him. He just snuck in,” Scott explains.

“Oh, lovely. I wanted to talk to that asshole, anyway,” Stiles grits his teeth, still trying to see where Derek is hiding. He thinks, for just a split second, he sees a red glow in the far shadows, but it is quickly gone when someone starts to scream.

Stiles looks down, frantic as his heart tries to beat a thousand times a second. He doesn’t see the kanima in the rafters anymore, but he thinks he sees movement, and on the dancefloor someone has literally hit the floor. Limp.

The chaos that follows mostly has Scott shoving Stiles at Danny, the two humans hurrying to shove through the suddenly screaming and frantic people, and there is a definite roar somewhere behind them and a shriek that isn’t human.

Stiles and Danny tumble out the back door Stiles and Scott had originally entered from, Danny nearly falling onto the pavement while Stiles is less lucky, faceplanting painfully. He’s being dragged to his feet, however, and shoved towards the parking lot by Danny.

“He went out the window,” Danny is saying quickly as they move.

“What? Who?” Because there’s too many people that could be “He” in this situation. They should really get more supernaturals with a variety of pronouns because this is ridiculous.

“Jackson! I saw the tail,” Danny snaps.

“How could you see anything during all of that?” Stiles questions, slightly disbelieving.

“Not all of us are as hopeless as you, Stilinski.”

Stiles wants to say something to that, but then they’re rounding the building and he sees Scott crouched over something with a shimmering, dark stain on the ground and all bickering comes to a stop. The two humans rush over and there he is. Jackson Whittemore.

The boy is naked and unconscious, blood pooling around him as his body tries to heal from a wound Stiles is going to take a guess Derek put there. Scott, crouched over Jackson, his hands hovering uselessly, looks back at them in a panic.

“What do we do?” he says, desperate and uncertain, and Danny pushes past them both to crouch down and look over his friend.

“We need to get him out of here,” Danny says quickly. “The hospital—”

“No,” Scott shakes his head, “He’s healing on his own, he’ll be fine, but you’re right. We need to go.”

They don’t have a plan, not really, but the best they can do is drag Jackson into Stiles’s jeep just as the police are arriving. They try to sneak by, but of course nothing this day can be easy. Nothing at all.

They get stopped by Sheriff Stilinski before they can make their escape and Stiles has to slink out of his car and have one of the worst conversations he’s ever had in his life. Lie after lie after lie. He feels like he wants to throw up with every word he spouts, and his father isn’t buying it anymore. If he ever did.

And then he has an idea. A plan for what they can do and how to play to his father’s nurturing side.

“Alright, fine,” Stiles finally huffs and looks around to see if anyone’s listening. His father doesn’t look impressed when Stiles faces him again. “It’s about Jackson.”

“The Whittemore kid?” Noah’s eyebrows tick up, surprised and a little distrustful which, fair, but also, ow.

“Something really, really upset him today, like more than usual, and Scott and me came to get Danny, ‘cause they’re best friends,” Stiles tries to explain.

Danny, perfect Danny, pokes his head out of the open, back window of the jeep, likely having been listening in. “It’s true, sir!” he calls, “Jackson’s really private about stuff like this, but he’s been really messed up lately.”

Noah glances back at the car and Danny hesitates, then slips back out of sight. When the Sheriff turns back to Stiles he looks exhausted, but less distrustful. At least a little bit.

“Let me guess. You were bringing them to our house?” his father questions, one hand rubbing over his forehead.

“Yeah. I was… I was hoping to do that.”

Noah Stilinski looks skyward, like he’s questioning how he’s come to this point, and Stiles feels like he has to agree with the sentiment.

Then, abruptly, his father is digging into a pocket and pulling out his wallet. He hands over a twenty to Stiles and, with a very stern look, says, “For pizza. Only. Make sure your friend is okay and we’ll talk more later.”

Stiles swallows and nods, taking the money and hurrying over to his jeep.

Well, that could have gone worse. But now what?

**VvvvV**

“A kanima,” Jackson says slowly, sitting in the Stilinski home’s den, wearing sweats Stiles dug out of his own closet and a blanket draped over his shoulders.

“A-yep,” Stiles says back, setting down three pizza boxes on the coffee table. He felt bad about all the lying with his father, but pizza money was pizza money and what teenager would turn that down?

“With venom,” Jackson continues, disbelieving gaze flicking around the room.

“From your claws,” Scott agrees, already digging out a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself and taking a huge bite out of it.

“That paralyzes.”

Stiles makes the cartoony noise of someone falling over and plopping onto the ground, all with arm gestures to show his point.

“And a tail.”

“Like a gecko,” Danny nods, sitting beside his friend and reaching for the Hawaiian pizza he’d demanded they order.

“Do you think if it got cut off it would grow back?” Stiles wonders, mouth full of his own sausage and black olive pizza.

“That’d be freaky, dude,” Scott makes a face just as Jackson is slouching down and scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Yes, Jackson, this is really happening,” Danny cuts into his friend’s thoughts before they can get worse, “Now eat something already and we’ll come up with a plan.”

Danny had been handling things remarkably well, Stiles has to admit. He’d been incredibly worried over his friend, but the moment they’d had a goal in mind – get Jackson to Stilinski house, get him dressed, and fill him in on what is going on – he’d buckled down and gotten serious. They’d tried to fill him in some during the car ride, which went well, and Stiles could have sworn he heard Danny mumble, “Werewolves. Figures. Beacon Hills, after all.” Stiles doesn’t know what to take out of that, but it’s a concern for another day.

“I don’t remember anything, though,” Jackson is abruptly saying. He’s holding a slice of pizza Danny shoved at him, but isn’t eating. He just looks lost. Stiles can’t help but think, if Danny hadn’t been here, there’d be a lot more yelling and arguing, but Danny has no reason to lie. Jackson trusts Danny.

“We think it might be a split personality type thing,” Stiles offers. “You were bitten, but rather than becoming a werewolf you became a kanima, and when you transform you go into this fugue state.”

“Why the fuck did I turn into a stupid lizard, though?!” Jackson is finally erupting, not standing, but vibrating with stress that morphs into fury. “What went wrong?!”

“It has something to do with your mind,” Scott attempts to explain, leaning forward on the recliner, food momentarily set aside to focus on the irate rich boy. “It’s like… Something inside you is in turmoil, making you reject the bite, and instead turning you into the kanima. Solve that inner turmoil and you should be fine.”

“Oh, that easy, huh?” Jackson snarls but Danny punches his arm.

“No, not that easy. It’s just what needs to be done,” Danny snaps, cowing Jackson’s temper slightly, before sagging on the couch with a sigh. “Dude, you have a lot of hang ups, and now they’re fucking you over in the worst, possible way. You’re going to have to work on this with us or you could really hurt someone.”

Jackson stills, his whole body stiffening, and his eyes snap to Danny, then to Scott, then to Stiles. “The… the murders. The recent murders around town.”

Stiles flinches and dread fills Jackson’s face. The guy was a jerk, but there was no way he could be okay with knowing how many people he’d already killed. He was just a teenager, like Stiles, and he’d never signed up for this. He’d wanted to be stronger, better, and he was selfish about it, but _this_ … no, he definitely wouldn’t have wanted this.

“Do you know why you targeted any of them?” Scott asks, reading the atmosphere in the room for once and keeping his voice soft, but Jackson’s face just pinches in confusion. “All the victims… You were targeting them, they weren’t random.”

“I’d never heard of any of them,” Jackson defends, sitting up straight, and Stiles and Scott exchange a look.

“Really? Because you couldn’t have just been off attacking people willy-nilly,” Stiles says, “When you saw me at the mechanic you left me alone, even though you could have killed me super easy. You had people in mind you wanted dead.”

Jackson looks like he’s going to be sick. “Why would I target Danny, then? That doesn’t make sense,” he argues and that pulls everyone short. Jackson would have _no reason_ to want Danny dead.

“Did something happen between you two recently?” Scott asks.

Jackson, at first, starts to shake his head, but then pauses, thoughtful. “Only thing would be the video…” he mumbles, half to himself. He looks over at Danny, then to the room as a whole. “I filmed myself. On the last full moon.”

“You filmed yourself?” Stiles smirks and Jackson shoots him a cold glare.

“Yes. I wasn’t going to be ashamed of what I was, like this nerd,” he throws an arm in Scott’s direction, the werewolf pouting slightly but not rising to the bait. This was no time for arguments. “Turns out two hours were missing, though.”

“I was recovering them for him,” Danny continues for him, “But I didn’t look at it. I thought it was a sex thing and I really didn’t need any of that.” The human pauses to look around at them all, then sighs in defeat. “I kind of wish it had been a sex thing.”

Jackson grunts in agreement, his face falling back into his hands, back to looking exhausted and miserable. Stiles watches him for a moment, then glances at Danny. The other human looks tired, too, and Stiles sighs.

“We can address Jackson’s emotional problems tomorrow, after we get some rest. Not like they’re going anywhere,” Stiles announces and he feels Jackson glaring at him through his fingers. Stiles ignores him.

“I’m going to touch base with Allison. Fill her in and see how Lydia’s doing,” Scott announces, standing and moving towards the stairs for some privacy. Stiles doesn’t even need to be asked, he just hands over his phone for Scott to use.

“I’m gonna grab some blankets for you guys,” Stiles announces and heads off to dig out way too many blankets for his impromptu guests.

They all try to get comfortable, Scott joining them and informing them that Lydia and Allison are both fine. Stiles’s brows pinch, watching as Scott plops back into the recliner.

“Did Allison tell Lydia anything?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.

“No, she kept everything quiet,” Scott replies, smiling, as if he’s trying to be reassuring, but Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about that. Ever since this all began, he’d learned how much lack of communication fucked them all over. He’d been trying so hard to keep up communications with Derek and his pack so that no one was left in the dark – although, after today, he wasn’t sure how well that was going – it felt wrong to leave Lydia out.

Danny knew everything now, why shouldn’t Lydia? She’d been more affected than Danny.

But it’s something to worry about later and they all try to find some form of normalcy. Two pairs of best friends who hardly stand the other pair. At least the pizza is good and, having enough of the tension, Stiles finally grabs the PS3 controller and shoves it at Jackson.

It’s one of his better ideas, because the game quickly mellows the lizard boy – and yes, even if they cure Jackson, Stiles will never let that go – and the rest of them watch and comment freely.

“Wait, you’re saving Kaiden and not Ashley?” Scott says at one point, looking at the screen with more intensity than Stiles sees when he’s fighting.

“Uh, yeah? Kaiden’s my bro and I’m banging Liara, not Ashley,” Jackson snaps, hackles rising at the questioning of his choices.

“Plus, Ashley’s kind of racist. Alienist? What’s it called when you’re racist with aliens?” Stiles throws his head back to the group, having taken position on the floor in a makeshift, blanket nest.

“Xenophobic, I think,” Danny hums, looking remarkably comfortable where he lounges across the couch, feet shoved under Jackson’s thigh. “Plus, Kaiden’s hot.”

Stiles rises his can of Pepsi in a salute to that, but Scott is still pouting.

“But Kaiden’s so boring,” he grumbles and Stiles points a finger at him.

“Hey! Hey, no! Just because most of his story happened off camera doesn’t take away his intrigue. Do you need me to get meta on Mass Effect with you? Because I will!”

“Oh god, please no. We don’t have five hours to spare,” Scott groans, then smirks when Stiles chucks a pillow at him.

It all feels remarkably normal, but Stiles isn’t going to fool himself. There’s no way it’s going to be able to last.

**Vvvv** **V**

Stiles lays his hand on his jeep’s horn and doesn’t let up until he sees movement from inside the train depot. He finally stops as the hulking, furious form of Derek Hale emerges and comes prowling towards the car. Stiles doesn’t get out, though, and instead rolls down his window.

“What… the hell… are you doing?” Derek demands, slowly grinding his teeth together, and Stiles hums as if he’s considering his answer.

“Figured I could offer to drive your asshole Betas to school. Talk to them. Communicate. You remember what that is, right? Communication? Because it sure seemed like the moment you thought you had everything figured out you went off to do your own thing without so much as a comment to us.”

Derek is beside the jeep by now, arms crossed over his chest, his tank top not leaving anything to the imagination. “I don’t need to tell Scott or his pack anything,” he snarls, feet planted like he’s physically preparing himself not to budge. Too bad he’s wrong and Stiles is right. As usual.

“Oh, right, because you’re the Alpha? Because you can do what you want?” Stiles shoots right back, leaning his elbow on the open window while his right hand tightens on the steering wheel. “You do recall how much of a mess everything got while Peter was running around like a fucking maniac, right? If we all had just talked to each other and trusted each other – _just a little bit –_ I highly doubt anything would have gone as poorly as they did! And now you want a repeat!”

“I know what I am doing,” Derek fires back. “I grew up with this. This has always been my life. What would you, some bratty teenager with a computer, know about handling any of the supernatural? The real supernatural?”

“More than you, apparently!” Stiles roars, blood boiling, and now he’s tumbling out of the car, nearly strangling himself on the seatbelt. He’d expected a fight and had left his house early, leaving Danny to look after Jackson while Scott and Allison trade off playing guard. Stiles was ready.

Except, apparently, he wasn’t, because maybe that last comment burned more than he’d anticipated. Surrounded by werewolves and huntresses, it left Stiles feeling a little wobbly in his importance within the group. He’s not even sure Derek realizes how much of a deep cut that was…

“The kanima is a predator like you, right? Meaning it has similar powers, right?” Stiles begins, moving into Derek’s space and trying to measure up to his unmoving glare. “Meaning, if someone was bit and became a kanima, _they’d still heal the wound_. Lydia’s wound never healed! If anything, you should have known early on that she wasn’t the kanima. That stupid venom test shit you pulled only succeeded in further proving she has an immunity to supernatural substances.”

Stiles abruptly turns around, hands scrubbing viciously over his head as his frustration continues to mount.

“But you know aaaaall about the supernatural, right?” he sneers, not looking at Derek. “You were prepared to _murder_ a teen girl, with insufficient data, and an ego so big you could fill the hole in the ozone with it!” He swings back around to glare at Derek and he realizes he’s pacing. He’s pacing and ranting and furious.

“Are you going to tell me how I’m doing everything wrong, again?” Derek snarls, smirking but it isn’t a nice movement, especially with those fangs. “Because that seems to be all you do. Complain, ramble, and tell me how much I’m failing.”

“You aren’t failing, Derek,” Stiles begins, shaking his head, but Derek steps towards him too quickly for him to avoid and he’s snapping his mouth shut.

“No, no, don’t change your tune now,” Derek rumbles lowly, voice deceptively calm, and it sends a shiver down Stiles’s spine. “Every time you want to talk, there’s always something I need to change. Something I could do better. And you can see it all. See it clearly. And you swoop in like some kind of self-righteous savior. Like you have any idea what I could possibly need.”

“I’m not trying to save you,” Stiles says weakly, his knees suddenly feeling like jelly, and this is definitely not what he’d meant to happen. This is a turn he’d not prepared for.

And now Derek is scoffing in disbelief, his eyes scornful, and Stiles swallows and makes his face hard. “Okay, fuck, fine, maybe I am, but not because I think I’m some kind of hero. Not for some… bullshit self-gratification or guilt trip,” he tries to defend because, yeah, he had kind of been trying to rescue Derek. Pull him out of the hole he’d been constantly digging for himself. Not for Stiles’s benefit, but for Derek’s.

“What could you possibly do?” Derek rolls his eyes, “You’re just a kid. You could never be able to fix me.”

“I don’t want to _fix_ you!” Stiles immediately straightens, horrified at how twisted his motives have clearly been made inside Derek’s head. Although, it should have been expected. “Derek, you aren’t _broken_. You’ve…”

Stiles pauses, his mouth suddenly dry, because Derek is so close and it’s so easy to look at his eyes and notice they aren’t glowing. Notice they’re glaring, but it looks almost painful. Notice just how lonely they are. And Stiles gets it.

“You’re doing it again,” he whispers and Derek’s face pinches, not pleased with the shift in tone and not knowing what it means.

“Doing what?”

“Driving people away,” Stiles breathes, and his hands come up to frame Derek’s face, gentle on his jaw, like he’d done before inside the train depot. “I don’t know if you realize you’re doing it, but… you are constantly trying to drive people away, even those you want to protect.”

“Keeping a distance can help keep people safe,” Derek begins defensively, but his whole essence seems to shudder, and Stiles tries to hold on a little tighter.

“No, it keeps _you_ safe. People can’t hurt you if you don’t let them in,” Stiles says and it all is really, truly falling into place. Even the Betas Derek had been trying to keep away, despite also wanting to keep them close and secure. No wonder everything was a mess.

“I’m not going anywhere, Derek,” Stiles says, more firmly than anything he’s said before, trying to shove just how much he means every word into his very fingertips. “I’m not your savior or a superhero – though I’d make a spectacular Batman – and I’m not trying to fix you. I just think you deserve to have something good in your life and I want to help you get it. That’s all.”

“Why?” Derek asks. It sounds like he tries to demand it, tries to take some of his control back, but it just comes out weak and warped.

Stiles isn’t sure what comes over him but he’s smiling, soft and reassuring, and then he’s leaning forward to press his face against Derek’s neck. The Alpha stiffens, big hands abruptly latching onto Stiles’s hipbones, and holds his breath. “Because,” Stiles whispers, not moving, “despite everything, I think you’re a good person and I quite like you. Don’t ask me why, I’m still unsure, but thinking about you being miserable makes me sad, so… yeah, sorry, you’re officially stuck with me.”

Derek releases a long breath that blows hot against Stiles’s own neck and, finally, he begins to relax. His shoulders loosen, his back curves, and the grasp on Stiles’s hips lessens to a gentle hold. Stiles rubs his thumbs over Derek’s stubble absently and, slowly, grudgingly, he pulls away from Derek’s neck.

“Communicate with us, okay?” he whispers, not releasing the Alpha’s face and insuring they lock eyes. “If not with Scott, then with me?”

Derek’s green eyes flick over the human’s face, measuring out this entire situation in his head, before sighing through his nose. “We’ll stay updated,” he agrees lowly.

Stiles nods. It’s the best they’re going to get. “Alright, well, since we’re on the subject of sharing… We found out some more stuff about the kanima,” Stiles begins, perking Derek’s interest, and Stiles tries not to preen at having someone’s full attention that isn’t negative. “Turns out kanima’s seek out masters that will control them. All these victims? They’ve had nothing to do with the kanima’s goals, but rather its master’s influence.”

“You know who the kanima is, don’t you?” Derek abruptly asks, some of the strength returning to his voice, and it makes Stiles pout. He’d kind of liked Emotionally-Open-Derek, even though it wasn’t for the best reasons.

“We do,” Stiles allows, head tilting, and Derek arches a brow before matching the head tilt with his own. That really shouldn’t be as cute as it is… “I’d like to tell you, but you can’t go on a murder spree again. I’m serious, that was totally uncool and it freaked me out and kind of hurt my feelings a little bit and—”

“It’s Jackson, isn’t it?”

“ _Fuck_ … yeah, it’s Jackson…”

Derek smirks, triumphant and smug, and Stiles tries to glare at him but it only makes the smirk worse. Asshole.

“We won’t go after him,” the Alpha says quietly and one of his thumbs rubs firmly against Stiles’s side, reminding him that his hands are still there. “For now. But if nothing gets fixed, we’ll have to act. Sound fair?”

“Just keep everyone updated and I think that’ll be fine,” Stiles agrees, nodding, and Derek snorts but seems settled on the arrangement. “We really should be working together for this, though,” Stiles finds himself mumbling, lips twisting in displeasure, and Derek arches an intrigued brow.

“You able to convince Scott of that?” the Alpha asks, not sounding like he expects much. Stiles can’t blame him.

“Dude, I love Scottie, I really do, but sometimes I really want to strangle him.”

“That’s pretty normal for siblings.”

Stiles snorts his way into a helpless giggle despite himself and Derek smirks, looking a little softer than before. When he settles back down, he sighs. “I don’t think this split pack thing is working,” he admits weakly, which really seems to surprise Derek.

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t. It’s a complete mess and, if I’m being honest, I think we’d all make a pretty good, singular pack. You and Scott just need to get over your hang ups with each other beforehand.”

Derek’s face is positively hilarious, the affronted way his mouth works for a moment before he’s snapping, “I’m not the one—” but Stiles pinches his cheek to stop him.

“Don’t even start that. You two need to sit down and talk, like two responsible werewolves, and figure this out.”

Derek doesn’t reply, but he does jab a finger into Stiles’s side in retaliation, making the human squawk.

The clearing of someone’s throat has them both freezing, mouths snapping shut, and looking sideways.

Isaac stands there, off to the side, with a backpack slung over one shoulder and the most shit-eating grin on his face Stiles has ever seen. He looks far, far too pleased with himself as he watches his Alpha and human classmate cling to each other in a remarkably intimate position.

“So, uh,” Isaac begins, then jabs his thumb at the jeep, “Still willing to give me a ride or should I go back inside and pretend not to hear you?”

The words break whatever spell Stiles and Derek are in and they finally spring apart, Derek going stiff and authoritative while Stiles scrambles to catch his balance and not club himself with his own, flailing hands.

“Yes! Ride! I will give ride! Of the vehicular kind! To the place of learning! So glad to have you back, by the way, did I mention that? Great to have those pesky charges dropped. No more fugitive lifestyle! Isn’t it great? It’s pretty great!” Stiles rambles, tripping on his way into the driver’s side of his car, foot slipping once before he manages to fall in.

“It _is_ pretty great,” Isaac agrees slowly, still grinning as he meanders towards the passenger door. His eyes have fallen on Derek now, though, as he says to Stiles, “Now if you can just use some of your Stilinski wiles to convince Derek to buy an actual home, we’ll be set.”

Stiles splutters and Derek’s eyes flash red, but Isaac quickly slips into his seat and buckles in, calling out, “If you damage the jeep you’ll make Stiles mad!”

Derek opens and closes his mouth a few times, looking like he’s honestly considering doing damage to Stiles’s precious jeep, and the human looks swiftly to Derek. “I know he’s trying to mess with us, but I actually will get angry if you hurt Roscoe.”

It’s a warning that shouldn’t work, it would hardly have ever worked before, but maybe Isaac knows something Stiles doesn’t because Derek is hesitating, then deflating, taking a step back to lessen his temptation.

“Just… go get the others. Fill them in on everything,” the Alpha sighs, resigned, and Stiles can’t help but begin to grin.

“This is what you get for biting a bunch of teenagers,” he can’t help himself and he scrambles to put his car into drive and book it out of there when Derek’s eyes glow a steady red.

**VvvvV**

Stiles sits with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd at lunch since his usual table is all back at the Stilinski household. He expects it to feel a little awkward, but it doesn’t. After hashing out everything on the ride to school they are surprisingly amenable to allowing bygones to remain bygones.

Stiles enjoys it. They don’t sit in the cafeteria, they instead sneak off to an abandoned music room because its insulation gives the werewolves a little bit of peace and quiet. They eat and talk, Isaac suggests getting some jogging in after classes, and Boyd begins to absently play chords on the piano.

“I didn’t know you played,” Stiles brightens up when Boyd first presses at the piano keys in a nonrandom fashion.

“My Gran wanted me to learn,” Boyd shrugs. “Don’t have one at the house, though. No room.” And too expensive, Stiles figures. He doesn’t know much about Boyd’s situation – just that he lives with his grandmother, the neighborhood his house is located in isn’t “the best,” and he was regularly alone before the pack.

“My mom used to play,” Stiles admits quietly, moving towards the school’s nice-but-not-fancy piano. Isaac and Erica have fallen into their own conversation behind him. “She tried to teach my dad and me, but my dad has no rhythm and I couldn’t focus. I can do chopsticks, though.”

Boyd rolls his eyes as Stiles bends down to show off his skills, then proceeds to play some ridiculous, overcomplicated duet part to Stiles’s chopsticks. When they finish, Stiles gives the werewolf a bland look and mumbles, “Alright, well, fuck you too.”

Boyd just smirks and says nothing, going back to what Stiles assumes is practice. It makes Stiles think about the upright piano currently shoved away into the spare room of the Stilinski household, too painful to play, too painful to sell, and probably horribly out of tune. Stiles wonders how much it would cost to tune it.

Stiles wonders how difficult it would be to move it.

The rest of the day goes normally, Stiles getting occasional messages from Scott or Allison or Danny, mostly informing him that nothing is happening and Jackson seems fine.

And then, just as classes are wrapping up, Stiles receives a message from Scott that just reads “p”. Stiles’s brow furrows, confused, and he and the Betas bundle into his jeep and take off. It’s a blessing Stiles’s father is still at work, probably swamped after all of these attacks, because when everyone comes rushing into Stiles’s home they find three, paralyzed bodies and a wide-open back door.

They hurry to get Scott, Allison, and Danny into marginally more comfortable positions, being informed that, seemingly out of nowhere, Jackson had begun to twitch and convulse before shifting, attacking, and fleeing.

“He didn’t kill anyone, though,” Allison observes. She couldn’t move, but her entire aura had been tense the moment the three new werewolves had come in and this was the first thing out of her mouth.

“So? What does that mean?” Erica’s face pinches.

“That his master is sympathetic? A psycho, but sympathetic?” Isaac offers sardonically.

“Or the master knows us,” Danny mumbles, which cows everyone quickly.

About one hour later, the paralytic finally beginning to wear off and the Betas have run off to fill in Derek, a text message dings on a group chat between Stiles, Scott, Allison, Danny, and Jackson.

**From: Jackson Whittemore**

**[back home. I dont remember how I got here.]**

Well, fuck.

**VvvvV**

Stiles refuses to leave Erica’s side. After everything, he thinks he’d be a pretty shitty guy if he did.

Despite all of them knowing what Jackson is, there isn’t much they can do but keep a close eye on him. If he disappears, people will become suspicious, and if they try to chain him up, he breaks free at his master’s command. All they can do is try to keep a close eye, keep anyone else from getting killed, and solve the mystery of who the master is. That and attempt very crappy, impromptu therapy sessions in hopes of sorting out what’s keeping him a kanima.

It isn’t easy, especially with how much the two “packs” butt heads over every little detail until either Stiles or Danny snaps at them to shut up. Plus, even while “human,” Jackson will sometimes fall into a daze, like he’s losing time, and acting more vicious than usual.

It all comes to a head when Jackson and Scott end up fighting in the locker room, Allison and Scott both attempting to calm Jackson down until things just get worse. Stiles and Erica end up on the scene, along with Matt Daehler for some reason, and they all end up in detention.

It’s a mess. A big, huge mess that leaves Stiles suspicious of that Matt character but unable to care because Erica is having a seizure and they have to get her help.

And now they’re here, in the train depot, Derek forcing Erica to start healing by breaking her arm – why not just a finger or something? – and Scott and Derek have stepped to the side to really hash out a plan to work together because none of this has been working.

That leaves Stiles with Erica, which he’s fine with. She’d called him Batman so she was pretty much the coolest girl in his book, and he brushes her hair out of her face absently.

“Are you trying to calm me or you down?” the blond suddenly mumbles, her eyes closed, but her chest heaving from her lingering pain.

“Depends,” Stiles snorts, “How calm are you?”

“Pretty calm.”

“Then I guess I’m trying to calm myself down.”

Erica’s body vibrates with weak giggles, not strong enough for her full laughter, and her lips twitch upward. It hurts Stiles’s heart that he never noticed her before. She’s beautiful, yes, and abrasive, but he’s grown to quite like this girl. She’s one of the strongest people he knows.

“I’m sorry I never paid attention to you before,” he finds himself whispering, still running his fingers through her damp hair. It should be gross. It really isn’t.

“It’s okay,” Erica hums and her unbroken arms shifts so she can squeeze Stiles’s knee. “You never really had a reason to.”

“Still,” Stiles shrugs. No, he never had a reason to. He didn’t know Erica beyond “that girl in his year who sometimes needs medical assistance,” and their paths had never really crossed, but he wishes he’d stopped to notice.

“I don’t resent you,” she assures, peaking one eye open, and her lips quirk a bit more playfully. “Mostly, I just like messing with you. I don’t really want you feeling guilty.”

“Did you really have a crush on me?” he asks, because that feels so foreign to him; someone having a crush on _him_.

“Sure,” Erica replies, cool and easy, like it’s nothing. “You’re a catch. But not anymore.”

Stiles can’t help the quirk of his own lips now, eyes sparkling as he looks down at her. “I’ve seen the way you look at Boyd. We all have.”

The girl’s cheeks pink brilliantly, but she stays firm when she shoots back, “And I’ve seen the way you look at Derek,” a sharp, vicious smirk, “We all have.”

“W-what?!” Stiles yelps, back stiffening, and another weak giggle escapes Erica’s lips, her grip on his knee tightening to the point of pain but not excruciating. “I don’t—I—I like—”

“Lydia? Please,” Erica rolls her eyes and it should be a good thing she’s getting more animated, but Stiles is too flabbergasted to care. “You did – you definitely did – but you’ve hardly paid any attention to her lately beyond keeping her safe from us.”

“Yeah, still pretty mad about that, by the way,” Stiles grumbles and Erica shrugs with one shoulder. “But I don’t have a crush on… _Derek_ of all people.”

Erica doesn’t look too impressed now, her perfectly shaped eyebrows curved in disbelief, and she rolls her eyes. “Yes, you totally do. Ah!” she cuts him off sharply when he opens his mouth to argue. “Just… think for a second. Go back over everything. Really, really dig deep about how you’ve been feeling, then tell me I’m wrong.”

Stiles groans, long and loud and overdramatic, but humors the werewolf.

He’d hated Derek when he’d first met him. Hated the mess he was a part of, the troubles he’d brought with him. Sure, he was objectively attractive, but that didn’t fix his garbage personality.

And then there’d been a moment, a second to breathe, when they thought the big bads had been taken care of and Stiles could think and he’d remembered all the things he’d learned since Danny and Jackson. He’d remembered all those psychology reports online about trauma and mental barriers and fears turning to anger.

He’d remembered hard exteriors protecting soft cores, and he’d decided to reach out. Just a little. And once he’d gotten that glimpse of the soft insides of Derek Hale, seen how much he was _hurting_ through all of this, Stiles couldn’t stay away. He’d wanted to help Derek, sure, but he’d also wanted to know him. To see him.

He wasn’t under any misplaced belief that he was anyone special. He was an annoying, sarcastic, fragile, _human_ teenager. He could research like the best of them, and he was connected to a good number of helpful people, but he was just Stiles. What was so great with that? He was a steppingstone for Derek to finally get to a point in his life where he could be happy. He wasn’t the end goal, but he hadn’t minded that. He understood that and accepted it.

But then they kept meeting, and arguing, and saving each other, and _listening_ to each other. Derek didn’t have to put up with Stiles’s crap, but he did. He didn’t have to accept the hand Stiles had reached out to him, but he had. He didn’t need to keep coming back to Stiles for any form of reprieve Stiles offered, but he would. And he was rough, and hard, and difficult, because he was Derek, but Stiles could see all those soft spots getting bigger. Warming under the sun after being buried so long.

Derek was objectively attractive, but when he was cackling uncontrollably over something stupid Stiles did while they both lounged at the depot or in Stiles’s house, his shell momentarily forgotten, he was downright beautiful. So much so that, now that Stiles was looking back, he’s amazed he hadn’t noticed before and gone into cardiac arrest because _damn_.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, his eyes widening, and Erica is looking up at him with a stupid grin on her face.

“Yep,” she agrees with a nod.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Stiles looks around frantically, hands flapping like he’s trying to say something but the words won’t work. “Oh my god!”

“I know,” Erica continues to grin and agree and Stiles thinks he might die.

With a pathetic groan he folds over and lays his face on Erica’s chest, trying to hide from the world, and says pathetically, “I have a crush on Derek.”

Perfectly manicured fingers come up to pet his head, running over the buzzed hair with half fascination, half comfort. “Yeah, you do. But that’s okay. It’s pathetic, but it’s okay,” Erica assures, sounding like she’s about to start laughing, and Stiles groans again.

After a few moments he realizes where he is. “I’m sorry I touched your boob again,” he whines, sitting up.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” she assures, clearly aware that nothing about this is meant to be sexual or inappropriate. Stiles just needed to hide for a bit.

“It’s a very nice boob,” he offers anyway, which has the werewolf shaking with slightly stronger laughter, color finally filling her features more naturally.

“Aren’t they?” she agrees, looking proud and giggly all in one.

“Despite the threat of sounding like a total sap, I like the girl underneath even better,” he smiles and Erica shifts, her smile shrinking but becoming far more genuine. Her hand squeezes Stiles’s knee, because she never let go, and she takes a deep breath.

“You’re right, you are a sap,” she offers, making Stiles roll his eyes as she winks up at him. “But thank you, anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part got a little out of hand so I went ahead and made this a three part piece. Hope that's cool with y'all! And I hope you enjoy

They have a plan.

Jackson ends up with tickets to a rave in the coming week, despite not having a solid grasp on how or why he got them, so they have to assume the next target will be there. They already know the master can speak directly through Jackson after the library fiasco, so they hope to capture a transformed Jackson while he’s there and, hopefully, get some answers.

It helps that they also have a general idea of who the victims are. Stiles had brought it to their attention, that all the victims had been 2006 graduates from Beacon Hills High, thus leading them all into a research frenzy – and by frenzy it meant mostly just Stiles and Danny – of who might be at this rave that would match that description.

Besides that, however, all they could do was wait.

Jackson tried to keep up his usual bravado at school, Danny helping him along, but he was definitely withdrawn. He always had someone nearby that he angrily called his “escort,” but he couldn’t come up with any good reason to send them away, and he was nearly always at the Stilinski home in the evenings, quietly playing Mass Effect.

Sheriff Stilinski had already gotten used to Jackson’s erratic presence in his home, and now he’s used to the much more regular presence of the troubled teen and his random escorts. He’d asked, once, while it was just he and Stiles in his office, if everything was alright.

“Not really,” Stiles had replied, honest and tired and worried, but then he tries to smile, “But I think it will be.”

Stiles is eternally grateful his father gives the teens their space, despite all of his son’s lies and half-truths. Stiles know he doesn’t deserve the curtesy at this point, but he’ll take it for what it is.

Then, on Thursday, Stiles comes walking down the stairs to a smirking Jackson and Erica and good lord that is a terrifying sight.

“It’s Thursday,” Erica sing-songs and Stiles stiffens because, while he isn’t surprised the Betas know about his and Derek’s scheduled relaxation time, he doesn’t like the tone there. Damn it, hadn’t they bonded earlier or something?

“Date night, Stilinski? Christ, you’re like an old married couple who schedules sex,” Jackson snorts, turning back to where he’s finishing up some side quests on Mass Effect before he heads for the final mission.

“I hate you both, and I am leaving,” Stiles grumbles, storming out of his house and hopping in his jeep.

It’ll be the first Thursday Breathe Break Stiles has with Derek after his very abrupt crush realization with Erica and he isn’t looking forward to it. Well, no, he’s looking forward to any time he gets to spend with the grouchy Alpha, but he’s dreading fucking up because of that constant awareness that he desperately, desperately, wants to kiss Derek’s stupid face. Maybe they should go do something where they don’t need to look at each other? Or talk a lot? That’s not a bad idea.

He makes it to the train depot without issue, heading in and grinning when Derek is already milling around.

He looks so good in that leather jacket, too. Why hadn’t Stiles ever noticed before?

He ignores the pointed grin from Isaac where he’s lounging on his awful couch and approaches Derek.

The Thursday after the whole “tried to kill Lydia” thing, Derek had been shocked when Stiles had reappeared to drag him off to do something. He’d clearly not been expecting Stiles to want to continue any of this, but Stiles was constantly proving people wrong.

“Breathe Breaks are escapes from everything and neutral ground,” Stiles had reminded him at the time, grinning like a loon, and rather than go out they’d opted to stay and play poker. Both hardly had any money in their pockets, but they’d made it work.

Derek had seemed pretty confident about that, too, until he’d realized Stiles could force his heart into a frenzy with enough time and his cheating, werewolf senses were useless.

Ever since, Derek hadn’t been surprised whenever Stiles had dropped in for their Thursday breaks. Scott – who knew how sacred Breathe Breaks really were and, despite some initial uncertainty, supported Stiles’s outings with the local Alpha – kept whispering “douchebag whisperer” anytime the Thursday meetings came up.

“We should go see a movie,” Stiles announces more loudly than he intends to as he finally reaches Derek. The man crosses his arms and arches a calm brow as if to ask, “why?” “Because movies are awesome! And they’re even better when you get to go with someone!”

“I actually like seeing movies alone,” Isaac calls and Stiles looks back at him with a baffled look. “What? It’s super calming and nobody comments on how much food I hide in my pockets. Spoiler alert: it’s a lot.”

“That is incredibly sad,” Stiles says with fake anguish, making Isaac scrunch up his face and stick out his tongue. “How are you even still here, anyway? You’re not a fugitive anymore.”

“Technically I’m in the foster system, but my foster family doesn’t really care where I go,” Isaac shrugs.

Stiles quickly looks back at Derek, meaningfully gesturing at Isaac with flailing arms. “Why have you not done something?” he demands but Derek just looks unimpressed.

“I’m working on it, but it’s a long, drawn out process that—”

“You still don’t have an address,” Stiles interrupts blandly.

“He still doesn’t have an address!” Isaac agrees and the tips of Derek’s ears definitely go pink.

“Please tell me you’ve at least been looking! This whole week we’ve all been pretty free,” Stiles near begs because this man is a little bit hopeless.

“We have a crazed puppet master on the loose and I have to prepare my pack for the upcoming full moon,” Derek ground out, clearly only just holding it together as he defends himself. “I am prioritizing.”

“Right, of course,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “Maybe that’s what we should do today. Apartment hunting. I’m serious about irritating people into giving you a chance.”

“I think I’ll stick with the movie,” Derek drawls, moving to push past Stiles and head out of the building. Stiles pauses, however, to glance at Isaac, the both of them sharing a long suffering, silent conversation over the ridiculousness that is Derek Hale.

“We still up for a run tomorrow,” Isaac eventually asks as Stiles shifts to follow the Alpha.

“Yeah, man, see you then,” Stiles absently agrees.

Derek is already in his Camaro, the engine rumbling, and Stiles feels a little giddy as he hops into the passenger side. He always feels so fancy when he gets to ride in the Camaro, even if nothing about him reads fancy. Or badass. Or cool.

Ah, well…

“So, I was thinking we should see _Red Riding Hood_ ,” Stiles says cheerfully as Derek pulls away from the train depot and heads towards town. The comment, though, has Derek giving him a very displeased look, before his eyes flick over Stiles’s red hoodie.

“Actually, that might fit you,” the older man grunts, eyes back on the road.

Stiles squawks, looking down at his favorite hoodie, then back at Derek. “You are NOT comparing me to Little Red Riding Hood! No way! That girl couldn’t tell the difference from her own grandmother and a wolf. _I’m_ the guy who figured out Scott was a werewolf before even _he_ knew!”

“Seriously?” Derek frowns comically, looking at Stiles out of the corner of his eye, sounding disbelieving but also a little resigned.

“Yeah… I mean, it’s Scott. Are you all that surprised?” Stiles offers and Derek snorts. Scott has one of the biggest hearts Stiles has ever seen, but sometimes he can be very, very, very dense. To the point of appearing idiotic, which Stiles knows isn’t true, despite his teasing.

“Speaking of Scott…” the human’s tone goes up a suspicious octave, even he can hear it, and Derek’s eyes narrow as he glances over.

“What? We’re working together now. What could possibly be wrong?” Derek demands, his grip on the steering wheel visibly tightening.

“Nothing’s wrong! It’s just…” Stiles sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Things are better, but we’re all still at each other’s throats. We’re working together like oil and fire. Technically they work well together, but with catastrophic end results.”

“And you have some bright idea to make it better, I take it?” Derek scoffs but Stiles doesn’t take it personally. He can almost see the defensive walls going up in the werewolf’s eyes, his shoulders stiffening. A part of Stiles wants to reach out and ease the tension away with his hands, but he bites back the urge with a blush.

“Only one, and you have every right to turn it down,” Stiles replies, looking forward at the road and tapping irregularly at his knees. “I think we should all go out for pack bonding this Sunday. You, me, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, as usual, but invite Scott, Jackson, and Danny along too.”

That was also something that had continued. Sundays were pack bonding day, and while the first few Stiles had been there as wolfy referee, afterwards he found he enjoyed it too much to stay away. He’d tried, one time, but then gotten incessant texts from Erica and Isaac asking where he was and that he ought to bring the food if he was going to be late like this.

“Not Argent?” Derek questions, voice carefully blank, but Stiles can sense the suspicion.

“Figured I was already pushing it with the others,” Stiles shrugs, “Am I wrong? Would you have let Allison join in?”

“No,” Derek admits on a growl, but Stiles doesn’t make a big thing out of it.

“So, yeah, I think they should come along. Go somewhere public so no one is tempted to murder each other. We all can bond like teenagers are supposed to.”

“I’m not a teenager, Stiles,” Derek grunts and some of the tension is beginning to fade.

“Yeah, but you have the emotional range of one,” Stiles smirks, yelping when Derek’s fist makes contact with his arm, a hand coming up to rub where it will likely bruise and glaring at the side of Derek’s smirking face. His smirking, perfect face. Fuck.

“I’ll consider it,” the Alpha eventually allows and Stiles releases a sigh of relief. It’s already better than he could have expected.

“Let me know by tomorrow, okay? So I can invite them,” Stiles says and Derek nods in agreement.

They do not end up seeing _Red Riding Hood_ , and instead get tickets for _Limitless_. Stiles should like it, it’s supposed to be a sci-fi film and Stiles LOVES sci-fi, but the whole movie goes by in a blur because his brain keeps reminding him just how close he and Derek are sitting beside each other. It would be so, remarkably easy to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, even though he really wants to.

And then a big, warm hand is encircling his own and squeezing, a little harder than necessary, and Stiles’s head snaps sideways. Derek’s eyes have a faint, red glow to them in the darkness and it makes the breath catch in Stiles’s throat.

“Relax,” is all Derek whispers and, of course, he probably can hear Stiles’s heart beating out of his chest, but the teenager just nods and tries to settle back into his seat.

Derek doesn’t let go of his hand for the rest of the film.

**VvvvV**

“Stiles, are you really sure this is a good idea?” Scott says for the millionth time in the jeep’s passenger seat.

Behind Scott, Jackson gives an extra vicious kick to Scott’s seat and growls, “For the love of god, McCall, would you just chill?” Danny, beside Jackson, says nothing.

“Yes, Scott,” Stiles says, ignoring Jackson, “I think this is a good idea. You all need to stop looking at each other like you’re on different sides of all this when you’re not.”

“They wanted to kill Jackson,” Scott argues, jabbing a thumb back in the direction of their reptilian-challenged classmate.

“So does everyone at some point,” Stiles shrugs, ignoring Jackson’s indignant, “Oi!”

“And they promised some time ago that they wouldn’t go after Jackson unless they absolutely had to,” Danny adds. He and Stiles aren’t exactly besties, but they have both, definitely bonded since Danny’s been brought into the know. They tended to agree on a lot more than expected and Danny helped Stiles keep the peace between all the supernatural teenagers. Hell, the actual outing they were all going on today had mostly been Danny’s idea.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not lying,” Scott argues.

“So glad to hear you care about my wellbeing, McCall,” Jackson sneers and Scott twists around to glare at him.

“We can’t trust them, Stiles,” Scott continues after he rights himself in his seat, focus on his best friend, and his voice slightly pleading. “I get you’ve been bonding with them lately and… No, I don’t get it, but it means something to you and they haven’t done anything and, like, if they did I’d totally destroy them, dude—”

“Which is very sweet but totally unnecessary,” Stiles cuts in, reaching over and grasping Scott’s shoulder firmly, giving it a small shake, then letting go. “We’ve all disagreed on a lot of things, and we’ve had a shit ton of miscommunication, but none of us has really done anything to warrant so much distrust. We’ve all known where we stand.”

“And now that we’re talking and on the same page, things could get a lot better,” Danny says, leaning forward against the back of Stiles’s seat. “You just have to put in the effort, you know?”

“Both sides have to, you mean,” Scott grumbles, pouting out of the corner of Stiles’s eye.

“Derek already is,” Stiles fires back, frowning. “He invited you guys on this.”

“No, _you_ did,” Scott argues.

“And he agreed, which is kind of a big deal.” The silence that follows is tense and Stiles sighs, feeling drawn thin with all of this. “Dude, let’s be real. You don’t have to be over the moon about this, but can’t you just do it for me? I’ve been doing a lot for you lately, at least give me this?” He thinks about all of the back and forth he’s had to do for Scott and Allison and he figures Scott owes him quite a lot at this point.

Scott sags in his seat, likely thinking of the same thing as Stiles, and lays his head back. “Yeah… okay, fine. But if they start shit I’m not holding back,” he answers and Stiles can’t help the grin that splits his face.

“Wouldn’t expect any different!”

Then, because he has to ruin everything, Jackson leans between the front seats, looking like a shitty councilor or something. “The key to every healthy relationship is compromise, boys,” he nods sagely.

“Shut up!” Stiles and Scott snap in unison, the blond grinning sharply at the response and snickering as he leans back in his seat.

The rest of the ride is relatively quiet save for a few, hushed conversations, and then Stiles is pulling into the first empty parking space he sees for their destination. Scott leans forward to look up at the sign on the building they’ve stopped at, his brows furrowed, before looking at Stiles and then Danny.

“Laser tag? This can’t possibly be a good idea,” he comments, but both humans are smirking knowingly and stepping out of the car without a word.

The laser tag arcade is basically bought completely out for the evening because Danny actually has Jackson wrapped around his little finger. The Camaro is already parked and, as they enter, Stiles makes a beeline for the booth where the Hale Pack is already situated.

They seem tense, Stiles notes, so he grins brightly and attempts to diffuse the tension. “Hello, my fine, canine pals!” he greets brightly, plopping down gracelessly into the seat beside Derek because… well, it’s free and he doubts anyone else will take it and… damn it, he’s got a hopeless crush and he can’t help it.

“Don’t call us that,” Derek grunts, eyes flicking up to watch Danny, then Jackson, and finally Scott move closer to join them. The tension is not diffused. If anything, everyone stiffens. Stiles shoots a pleading look Danny’s way and the other human sighs.

“Alright, well, this is probably going to stay awkward until we actually do something, so,” Danny begins, then digs into his pockets to pull out a few slips of paper and dump them on the table.

“What are these?” Erica questions, picking one up and reading it. “It has our names on them?”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Stiles says overly brightly, clapping his hands, “A lot of you don’t like each other and, while we have an even number, if we actually played laser tag right now we’d end up split into our stupid, two packs and probably try to kill each other.”

“So, instead, the teams will be random,” Danny explains, taking all the slips of paper and setting them face down. “You will work with your team, no matter who is on it, and we’ll have a great time. Sound like a plan?”

“I don’t want to play with any of them,” Isaac is commenting, sneering in the direction of Jackson and Scott.

“Neutral ground!” Stiles nearly yells, arms flailing, and Derek snatches one of his wrists before it can collide with his face. Stiles offers an apologetic smile before pulling his hands back in and addressing all of the supernatural idiots at the table. “This is neutral ground, got it? Stop whining and let’s get started. Once the ball gets rolling it’ll be a lot better.”

There’s a general murmur over the table that sounds like disagreement, making Stiles frown. “Actual children…” he grumbles, shaking his head, and feels more than hears Derek snort beside him.

“Set up the teams,” Derek nods at Danny, sounding tired, “We may as well do this.”

“You agreed to this, you know,” Stiles turns to the Alpha as Danny moves around the slips of paper, “Don’t act all long suffering now.”

“Should I be applauding you and bouncing off the walls?” Derek replies sarcastically.

“I’d pay to see that,” Erica smirks, leaning over the table towards them, while Stiles cringes.

“I wouldn’t. That mental image is horrifying!” he whines and definitely _does not_ burn red when Derek chuckles beside him. Instead, he tries to focus back on Danny as he begins flipping over papers and setting them to his left and right.

The first teams end up being Stiles, Jackson, Boyd, and Scott versus Danny, Derek, Erica, and Isaac. Stiles thinks, of all the people to be on a team with Jackson and Scott first, he’s glad it was Boyd.

It’s an interesting affair, that first match, because no one really knows the protocol. Half the time they want to be vicious and charge their opponents, while the rest of the time they aren’t sure if it will go against this so-called neutral ground Stiles keeps enforcing.

They get their scores back – Boyd got the most hits but Danny’s team won – and there’s a little, good-natured ribbing that’s still as awkward.

The next round is Danny, Jackson, Derek, and Erica versus Stiles, Isaac, Scott, and Boyd.

This round is a tiny bit more interesting. Since they’ve been on each other’s teams both rounds now, Stiles and Scott stick pretty close together, but that also means Stiles is there when Isaac swoops in for the save. It’s a bit less dramatic than that sounds, but one moment Danny is behind them, ready to fire at Scott, and the next his vest is beeping and temporarily blinking out.

“You owe me, Scott!” Isaac cackles as he zooms by, Scott watching him go in surprise and Stiles trying not to laugh.

This time Stiles’s team wins, with Boyd getting most hits again, but also…

“I told you you kept shooting me!” Jackson is yelling, waving his printed scores in Erica’s face, who is trying very, very hard not to laugh at his expense.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, pretty boy. I was the perfect teammate,” Erica flips her hair, her own scores already crumpled up and thrown away, and Derek standing off to the side with a hand rubbing his brow.

“Oh, you are _on_ , Reyes!” Jackson grits out, then swings to look at Danny. “I demand to be against her next round.”

“Dude, it’s random,” Scott mumbles, but is ignored.

Jackson, much to everyone’s entertainment, does not get his wish the next round. And, yet again, Erica snipes the blond constantly despite it ruining her score, then acts like it didn’t happen afterward.

Despite it not exactly being “friendly behavior,” something about the bickering and rivalry finally knocks something lose in the group. The matches become more energized, more competitive, more vicious. Stiles is also pretty sure werewolf powers are used, despite them promising not to, but he can’t be too upset with how much fun everyone is having.

The Jackson-Erica rivalry is by far the most hysterical thing to happen, but the unexpected Scott-Isaac dream team really comes out of nowhere. The two work remarkably well together when they end up on the same team.

No one is capable of outdoing Boyd’s scores, though, no matter the team.

There is, at one point, a tense moment where the teams end up being Stiles, Scott, Danny, and Jackson versus Derek, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd – precisely what they had been trying to avoid – but by that point the tension has been shattered. If anything, that particular game is one of the more fun ones, the rivalry burning bright, and, only by a hair, Stiles’s team receives victory.

The first time Stiles ends up on a team with Derek, they don’t really linger near each other. Derek seems to do best when he goes off on his own, which isn’t surprising. The second time, however, Derek lingers nearby, eyes flashing red in the darkness.

“You have to admit,” Stiles is saying, trying to emulate Call of Duty as best he can as he moves through the dark room, “This was a good idea.”

“It was,” Derek agrees, not looking over, “I’ll have to thank Danny later.”

“Hey!” Stiles yelps, smacking at Derek’s arm and pouting when he sees the other man smirking. He can’t stay upset long, though. “I really am happy, though. This could have gone so much worse, but it didn’t.”

“Small miracles,” Derek grunts.

They move in silence for a moment longer, Derek pausing to snipe someone Stiles doesn’t see, but then he hears Scott’s indignant squawk of, “Seriously?!” and he can’t help but laugh.

When that round ends and the lights brighten just enough for the humans to see easily, Derek pulls Stiles to the side before he can go too far. His hand feels like a brand where it settles on Stiles’s waist and Stiles tries really hard not to swallow when he looks up at the Alpha.

“Thank you,” Derek says lowly, right by his ear, and Stiles really wishes the lights could go back out so no one could see just how brightly he blushes. Instead, Derek pulls back away, takes one look at Stiles, and smirks. The asshole.

“No problem,” Stiles attempts to keep his cool, but his voice cracks right at the end and he pinches his lips together. Definitely not keeping his cool, then, especially if Derek’s growing smirk means anything.

Stiles makes a quick escape after that, trying to ease his heartrate before the other werewolves hear it.

The first round where Scott and Derek end up on the same team is also a tense affair. The two don’t seem very happy about it, either, and Stiles wishes he was on their team, too, if just to be a buffer, but he isn’t. Instead, he decides to only target those two, because if he can’t be a buffer through friendship, he can be a buffer through annoyance.

Shockingly, it works, Scott and Derek joining forces to absolutely demolish Stiles, and while he whines afterwards, he can’t help but feel incredibly pleased when Scott and Derek’s team win that round. Scott also bumps shoulders with him, smiling, clearly knowing what he’d done.

There are a few rounds, occasionally, where Danny and Stiles sit out, because they’re only human and they need a break. Jackson, despite his powers basically being dormant until called upon by his mysterious master, still retains heightened stamina and strength, so he keeps playing.

Or, he’s totally full of shit and refuses to take a break with the weak humans. The asshole.

When the night is getting late and the arcade is near closing, they decide on one more match.

“Rematch!” Erica cries, standing with Derek, Isaac, and Boyd. “Us against you again. You won’t get us this time!”

“You’re on!” Jackson growls without looking at the rest of them because that boy refuses to stand down to Erica. She basically has full control over him so long as she poses her requests as challenges.

Stiles would make a puppeteer joke if it wasn’t in such bad taste.

So, they suit up for their final match. Scott and Isaac have a funny little “what we had before will not keep me from doing what is right” moment, Boyd stoically stands there like he isn’t the best laser tag player ever, Erica and Jackson continue to trash talk, Danny tries to calm his best friend down, and Stiles…

Well, one moment he’s enjoying the entertainment, and the next he’s caught Derek’s eye. Derek, who seems to have been staring at him this entire time. He hasn’t been menacing to Stiles for a long while now, and the laser tag vest certainly doesn’t help, but the look in his eyes makes Stiles pause. It’s intense. Incredibly intense. Stiles doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but he knows that once they’re out on the floor, he and Derek are going to be going after each other.

He doesn’t know how he knows, he just knows.

The match begins like all others, energy charging the air, their rivalry no longer antagonistic but exciting. Stiles and Danny linger together for a moment, but it doesn’t last long and Stiles is alone. He can hear growls and yells all around him, stealth going out the window, but he doesn’t pay much attention to them.

Because one moment his vest is lit up and the next it’s making a funny noise and blipping out.

He’d been sniped. And he recalls Derek had been a remarkably good sniper.

Stiles tries to hide and look around, trying to spot a glowing, green vest. Purple versus green, rather than the classic red versus blue. It certainly made it easier to spot glowing, werewolf eyes in the darkness.

Especially red ones.

Stiles grins when he catches the red glow and, with his vest and gun back on, he moves and fires in their direction. There’s a definite blipping, dying noise, but what Stiles cares about is the low, frustrated growl that reverberates nearby.

Sweet Jesus, it was like he was being hunted. Or he was doing the hunting? Either way, he thinks he’s been hanging around wolves too long because this feels _invigorating_.

There’s a few more exchanged shots, a few more growls that make Stiles shiver in excitement, and they’re nearing the end of the match when Stiles loses sight of the Alpha completely.

He tries to keep low – he gets hit by Boyd once as he passes, but that’s par for the course at this point – and tries to chase after the last spot he’d seen Derek. It’s kind of in the far corner, far away from the angry and eager screams of the others, but Stiles doesn’t spot anyone. No form, no vest, no eyes. Damn.

He turns, ready to find a new hiding spot, when a large hand grabs him by the vest and shoves him into the wall. He yelps, staring up at glowing, red eyes and Derek’s smug grin.

“Pretty sure there’s a rule against manhandling,” Stiles tries to say, but Derek doesn’t seem to care. He keeps his hold on Stiles, pinning him to the wall with a single hand, and Stiles’s heart picks up speed. His adrenaline is high, his breathing is ragged, and he can feel sweat dripping down his forehead from the evening’s matches. He probably looks a mess.

But Derek just looks at him, eyes glowing, vision unimpaired like Stiles’s, and then he’s leaning forward.

Stiles squeaks when Derek’s face presses against his neck. He recalls doing something similar to Derek, on instinct, to calm him down, but this doesn’t calm Stiles down. It feels charged and meaningful, but Stiles doesn’t understand how. He can feel the deep intake of breath against his skin, his body going stiff, uncertain what to do.

Is this a wolf thing or a Derek thing? Is it a thing only for Stiles or everyone? He tries to remember his knowledge on wolves, but his brain is going a mile a minute in a direction he doesn’t need. He scrambles, fingers twitching, trying to grasp at reality and _understand_.

Then Derek is rumbling, deep and pleased, and Stiles’s legs shake.

He’s lost. He’s officially lost.

“You are killing me here, dude,” Stiles’s voice cracks and he feels the shake of Derek’s chuckle. “What are you even…” but he can’t finish because the feel of the Alpha’s stubble scrapes along his neck and short circuits something in his brain.

Derek rumbles a bit longer, before speaking lowly, with emphasis, “ _Thank you_.”

Stiles’s brows furrow and, regretfully, Derek pulls back so they can actually look at each other. The question must be clear in his face because Derek tilts his head and answers, “For this.” He motions to the dark room, the roars and screams around the room like a distant thought.

“You already thanked me for that,” Stiles replies, a little breathless, but Derek shakes his head.

“Needed to make sure you knew,” he replies, sounding more serious than before. Before they’d been playful and teasing, but now… Well, clearly this meant more to Derek than Stiles had expected. “You helped them feel like _pack_.”

Stiles can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips, looking up at Derek’s glowing eyes. “Well, of course,” he hums, then jabs his thumb at himself, “Resident douchebag whisperer, remember?”

Derek snorts, rolling his eyes, and Stiles grins. The grin slips, however, when Derek leans right back in and presses back against Stiles’s neck. “I mean it,” he says lowly. It must be difficult for Derek to admit any of this, Stiles figures, so he thinks he can at least be a little serious too.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, hand rubbing up Derek’s side. He _thinks_ he feels the Alpha shudder, just a little bit, but it’s too quick to be certain. “Next week we’ll do something a bit less chaotic, though. Sound good?”

Derek only hums his agreement and Stiles thinks that’s the end of it, but then the Alpha shifts back again and says, “One more thing.”

Stiles doesn’t like how grave he suddenly sounds, his throat jumping into his throat, and he wonders if werewolves can smell his worry. “What? What is it?”

“Never let your guard down,” Derek says firmly, his brows pinched over his red eyes, and it makes Stiles pause.

“Wha—” but the sound of his vest blipping in death and the light going out has him stiffening. His eyes widen and he looks down and, sure enough, his vest is off and Derek is holding his own gun up between them. When Stiles looks back up, shocked, Derek is grinning evilly.

“You jackass!!” Stiles shrieks as Derek finally releases him, stepping back and disappearing into the shadows. As frustrated as he is, though, Stiles can’t help but feel a little lighter when he hears Derek’s cackling as he goes.

Derek’s team wins the final match, and while there is plenty of ribbing going around, Stiles can’t help but stand back and grin. Tonight has been a very good night.

**VvvvV**

The good times can’t last, however. Stiles knows this, has known it for a while, but he still hates it. He tries to hold on so hard, but everything comes crashing down so quickly that he can’t keep up.

First the rave, then Lydia’s birthday party, then the massacre at the police station. Stiles is reeling and feels like he can’t do anything without feeling like he’s got to run for his life. His relationship with his father is strained more than ever before, Jackson is AWOL, and the hard-earned pack bonding is crumbling.

Stiles hates it, hates it so much, and he tries desperately to put on a brave face as his world comes tumbling down. He tries to keep everyone connected, but Scott and Allison won’t talk to him, Jackson, as he’d mentioned, is missing, and the Hale pack is in “hiding.”

Majority of the time Stiles ends up sitting with Danny at school, both of them lost and confused on what to do, and afterwards they both, usually, head to the Hale House.

It’s really not the cleverest place to hide out, but no one has gone looking for the pack there, yet, so it must work.

The wolves are quieter than they’ve ever been since the full moon. Stiles suspects because they’re really beginning to grasp the world they have chosen to be a part of, but Derek is quiet, too, and Stiles doesn’t know how to help him right now.

So, he tries to do things with the Betas, as best he can, and not allow this to fall apart. He plays cards with Boyd a lot, chats with Erica, and goes running around the preserve with Isaac. It is during one of these runs, their minds distant, that things just seem to get worse.

Erica and Boyd appear through the trees, looking winded and wild-eyed, and Stiles is immediately stiffening. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to fall, had even talked about it with his counselor, but he doesn’t think he’d ever be ready.

“We heard other werewolves,” Erica is bursting out before Stiles or Isaac can say anything. They glance at each other, confused.

“You’re sure?” Isaac asks, his brows furrowed.

“Definitely. A pack of them,” Boyd nods and Stiles feels nauseous when he realizes how _hopeful_ the two Betas look.

“Okay…” he begins slowly, “So, what does that mean?”

“Don’t you see? It could be our chance to get away!” Erica says, looking like she can’t believe she has to explain this to them, and Stiles stiffens.

“You… want to run.” It’s precisely what he’d been warning Derek about, what he’d been saying they needed to work to avoid. The Betas would always have a choice, and no one would take that from them, but Derek had been trying _so hard_ to be a good Alpha. The circumstances, however, had gotten away from them all.

“We never signed up for all this,” Erica is saying, standing up straight and shaking her head. Her arms are crossed, now, and her expression is guarded, like she’s just now realizing that Stiles isn’t as excited about this as she is. “We never wanted to be hunted or have to chase after murderous lizards. This can’t be our lives, and we intend to get away.”

That… that has Stiles straightening up, his expression turning hard. “You didn’t want this?” he questions, slowly, trying to keep his voice level, but he knows he hasn’t succeeded when the wolves shift around. “Erica…” he begins, but stops, because something nasty is bubbling up inside him and he doesn’t want to explode. Not when everything is so fragile. “All of you… Everything you do is going to have pros and cons to it. No matter where you go, you’re a werewolf now, and werewolf problems will always be werewolf problems.”

“This is the world you’re in now, and the only way we’re making it out of here alive is if we work together, and you just want to leave?” Stiles stops himself again, because his voice is rising, and he shuts his eyes and breathes. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to guilt you into this,” he says slowly. He’s an asshole, but he refuses to manipulate them. He refuses.

“We can’t stay,” Boyd says lowly, not looking at anyone, adding, “Even you agree that Derek is a pretty awful Alpha.”

“He’s _new_ ,” Stiles shakes his head, “Just like you are. He hides it because he has so much experience hiding his emotions, but he’s just as freaked out as you all are.” Erica scoffs and Stiles gives her a hard look. “He _is_. I know you’ve overheard some of the stuff I’ve told Derek, I know you’ve heard me say that he needs to put in effort trusting and listening to you, that he can’t be a dictator.”

“Exactly! That’s what we’re say—” Erica begins but Stiles cuts her off.

“But a pack is a team. Is a family. It can’t all be on Derek, either. He may have started this, but he’s been putting in the effort, trying to do what he can to make something of all this, but now it’s your turn. He’s put his faith in you, now you need to return the favor.”

“All we’ve done is put our faith in him!” Erica snaps, fire burning in her eyes, but Stiles is too used to the wolves by now to think he’s actually in danger. She’s upset, rightfully so, but she isn’t going to attack him. Probably. Hopefully.

“No, all you’ve done is test him,” Stiles shoots back, arms crossing over his chest, and he looks around at the group, “He was a ticket to your freedoms, but ever since all you’ve done is test him. Test how good an Alpha he actually can be. And you keep setting him up to fail your expectations and he doesn’t even realize you’re doing it. Now, when you are needed most, you want to run?”

The four of them are silent for a long moment, Isaac scuffing his feet through the leaves while Erica fumes and Boyd looks off into the distance. Stiles waits for some kind of response, but when he realizes he isn’t going to be getting one, he sighs. He scrubs his hands over his face, the measly bit of energy he’d managed to build up fading away.

“I’ll talk to Derek,” he says quietly, head falling, then turns away. “Just… think about staying? Please? I don’t think this is what pack life is normally like and I think, once we get through this, everything is going to be okay.”

“How can you know that?” Isaac questions, the first words out of him during this whole argument.

“I don’t,” Stiles admits, “But if I don’t believe it, and we don’t work for it, it’s never going to happen.” And he turns and walks away, heading back in the direction of the Hale House.

**VvvvV**

He ends up sitting on the front porch of the Hale House about half an hour later, Derek Hale situated right beside him, their sides pressed close. They don’t need to be this close, but neither seems to care.

With all the chaos and uncertainty, lately, their Thursday and Sunday meetups have fallen apart, despite them trying to keep them going. They absolutely need a break, but there’s no way to get one beyond occasionally sitting in each other’s presence.

Like they are doing right now.

Stiles had tried to bring up the issue with the Betas, but Derek had been quiet. Painfully quiet. Like he wasn’t surprised and was waiting for the executioner to arrive. “They’re gonna think about it,” Stiles had tried to assure him, but Derek had only hummed and stared off into the forest.

“You’re not alone,” Stiles finally tries to promise, but when that gets nothing more than a hum, too, he tries to fall silent as well. He presses his side up against Derek’s, too exhausted to pay attention to the happy little twitch of his heart at being so close to the man, and waits.

“You’re wrong.”

It takes Stiles a moment to realize Derek has spoken. His eyes had been fluttering, minutes ticking by, but when he processes the words, he straightens himself and looks over. He finds Derek looking back at him already, voice neutral and tired, and it pulls at Stiles’s chest.

“No, I’m not. You aren’t alone. You have me! We already went through this, you’re not getting rid of me and—” Stiles begins, ready to work himself up as needed to make sure Derek understood, but the Alpha shakes his head.

“Not about that,” Derek says softly, shutting Stiles up.

“Oh… then about what?”

Derek looks back out at the trees, quiet for a long moment, and Stiles waits. Waits because he doesn’t know what else to do. “You said… you weren’t some savior, when you started helping us,” Derek finally begins, voice quiet and distant, and his face pinches painfully. “Helping me.”

“I just… I wanted to be there for you,” Stiles begins to say, but he’s silenced again when Derek’s hand is suddenly gripping his own, squeezing, and he has the Alpha’s full attention. It takes his breath away.

“No one else was,” Derek says, a bit more firmly. “Everyone has said how terrible I am at this…”

“ _I’ve_ said that, Derek,” Stiles whispers, soft and trying for a smile, but Derek just shakes his head.

“But you wanted to help. Taught me how to be better. No one else did that,” Derek says and Stiles doesn’t know why his eyes feel so wet all of a sudden. “You were _there_. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, but you’re wrong if you believe you haven’t been a savior.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, his mouth hanging open, but it seems Derek isn’t done, anyway.

“Not just to me, either,” the Alpha whispers, glancing to the trees for a moment then looking again at Stiles. “The whole pack. You mean a lot to them. You really saved them, not me. Not the bite.” Derek hesitates, sighing deeply, and his shoulders sag. They don’t loosen, but some of the tenseness goes away.

“I said that Scott was Alpha of his own pack, once, but I think I was wrong about that, too. He could be a good leader one day – not today, but one day – but you’re the one that really took initiative through all this.”

That finally seems to startle a response out of Stiles, his eyes widening as he stiffens. “I’m not an Alpha, Derek, I’m just a human who doesn’t know how to stand down,” he retorts, but Derek gives him a patient expression.

“Oh look,” the Alpha says, then raises his free hand to motion at Stiles, “You’re wrong about two things now.”

“I… uh… what?”

“Weren’t you the one that argued that being an Alpha was so much more than just glowing red eyes and a fancy title?” Derek argues back, looking far too smug, but it’s the most reaction Stiles has seen out of him in a while, so he’ll take it.

“Yeah, but…” the teenager begins, hesitant, and he glances away. He wasn’t anything special. He was sarcastic, annoying, hyper, and stubborn to a fault. He was scrawny, inexperienced, weak, and uncoordinated. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t on par with an Alpha. He was just… Stiles.

“I’m not worried about Erica and Boyd leaving,” Derek cuts in when Stiles doesn’t continue. “They may check out the howls again, but I doubt they’ll leave. If not for me, then for you.”

Stiles swallows, the pressure and wetness in his eyes just getting worse, and he turns away so he can scrub at them. “Can we,” he halts, taking in a few breaths, because his voice comes out too wobbly, “Can we talk about something else? I don’t think I can handle anymore.”

Derek’s smile is a little sad, but it’s there, and he nods. “Alright. I just wanted you to know,” he says, squeezing Stiles’s hand. He shifts, as if he’s going to let go, but Stiles twists his grip and grabs the werewolf’s large hand back, holding it in place. They don’t say anything about it, but Derek relaxes his grip and lets them settle. “Want any pizza?” the Alpha asks after a few minutes and all Stiles can do is nod.

**VvvvV**

Boyd and Erica get taken.

Stiles hadn’t known that until he was thrown viciously into the Argent basement. Everything was chaos, last he’d seen, but he’d still noticed the two Betas’ absences. He hadn’t believed they’d truly run off with another pack, but until this moment he hadn’t _known._

They’re chained up and gagged and Stiles trips over himself rushing towards them. He tears off the duct tape over their mouth’s, first, but before he can grab at their restraints Erica is yelling, “Don’t!”

He lurches back, confused. “They’re electrified,” Boyd says, and then Stiles sees it. The occasional spasm in their bodies, the tense set of their muscles, the strain of agony they couldn’t get away from.

“Where do I turn it off? Where—” but Stiles doesn’t get a chance to find a way to rescue his friends because the door is opening and down comes Gerard Argent, like a villain in a crappy movie.

The beating Stiles receives is far more vicious than it has any right to be. This was an old, old man, but he was a trained hunter, and Stiles had forgotten that. The rain of fists against him is jarring, and when he collapses to the ground, he feels the sharp collide of a boot. He thinks his ribs might be bruised, or cracked, or broken. He doesn’t know, he just knows it’s hard to breathe.

Gerard bends down, either to pick Stiles back up or pummel him further, and something in the human clicks. He didn’t really train with the wolves, but he’d attended the majority of Derek’s training sessions when he had the chance. He knew the theory behind a good punch or kick or block. And, maybe, he also knew what it was like to turn vicious as an animal.

He strikes out suddenly, knuckle crashing into the old man’s face, and the hunter tumbles back, off balance. It’s enough time for Stiles to spring up, look around, and zero in on a little, metal machine with a dial on it. It hangs on the wall beside the Beta wolves and he lunges for it, spinning the dial to zero, and Erica and Boyd sag.

For a moment, nothing happens, and he thinks the werewolves have fainted. Gerard, however, is backing away, a terrible, furious scowl on his face.

Then Erica roars, loud and sudden, and jerks violently against her restraints. Boyd, too, begins to yank and twist, their strength slowly beginning to return, until one, and then both are tearing themselves free.

Erica charges in the direction Gerard has already fled in, furious, but Boyd turns to Stiles.

“We have to go,” Stiles gasps, one of his arms going around Boyd’s shoulders. “We have to _go_.”

Boyd doesn’t argue, it seems he’s all for getting the fuck outta dodge, and they grab Erica as they hurry upstairs. She’s less eager to run, seemingly more interested in finding Gerard and tearing him to pieces, but Boyd and Stiles convince her to cool off for three seconds and follow them.

Stiles isn’t sure how they get to his jeep so fast – he isn’t even sure where his jeep ended up after all this – but Boyd is pulling out his keys to drive while Erica is bundling in the back with Stiles. He wonders if those punches to his face had more of an effect than he’d expected.

He’s a bit more present, though, when they make it to the hospital. He still lets Erica hold half his weight, but he’s able to look around and process faces and names as they go.

Then he sees him.

“Dad!” he cries and he’s never been more relieved in his life. The Sheriff swings around, zeroing in on his son immediately, and is rushing over in a blink, taking Stiles from Erica and bundling him up in a tight, crushing hug.

For a moment, it feels like some of Stiles’s pieces can fit back together again.

“What happened to you?” Noah Stilinski is demanding a moment later, though, and it makes Stiles a little sick.

“The other team,” he lies, but he’s so tired he must look believable. “It’s my fault… I was talking trash and they got angry. Erica and Boyd saved me, though,” he shifts to give a smile at the two Betas. They’re the ones that had been strung up and tortured, yet they look so much better than him already.

“Thank you both,” Noah is saying. He knows the two well enough already from when they were all taking turns “escorting” Jackson around. Back when they thought they could save him.

It takes a great effort to convince Stiles’s father not to go after anyone, and it takes even more effort to assure him that Stiles doesn’t need medical attention.

“I just want to go home, dad,” he whispers and finds he isn’t lying. His father sighs, but agrees. He likely wants this evening to end, too.

Boyd drives Stiles’s jeep again, Erica and Stiles in the back, pressed closer than needed, and the Sheriff escorts them in his squad car back to the Stilinski household. They hadn’t said anything, but Noah could tell that Boyd and Erica weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, and he hadn’t been averse to it. Clearly, they were in very high regards now that they’d “saved his son.”

The group is hauntingly silent as they park and tumble into Stiles’s home. Noah goes into the kitchen to scrounge up some leftovers and Erica and Boyd help Stiles into the den. Stiles kind of wishes they could go up to his room, if just so he can lie down on his bed, but then Boyd is digging out blankets from the hall closet and Erica is situating the human on the couch. Stiles ends up laid out, head in Erica’s lap and feet in Boyd’s, and his father eventually comes to join them with a few plates of microwaved spaghetti.

Stiles wishes it could be peaceful. He wishes he could settle down and sleep, allow his brain to turn off for a bit, but he can’t. His friends are still out there, fighting Gerard, no doubt, and the kanima, and they could be dead or hurt or confused… and Stiles doesn’t know what to do to help them. He’s Mr. Research. He’s Mr. Human. He’s Mr. Has-One-Of-The-Only-Vehicles-Out-Of-This-Entire-Pack. What can he do at this point but wallow?

The doorbell ringing draws him out of his moping, however, and he carefully sits up. His father goes to answer the door and Stiles exchanges confused looks with Erica and Boyd.

“What? Super noses can’t tell who it is from here?” he half-teases and Erica snorts, rolling her eyes.

“We’re still pretty exhausted, asshole,” the girl scoffs and, yeah, even if she and Boyd look so much better than Stiles, they’re still drawn and tired-looking.

He doesn’t get to consider this for long, though, because Lydia Martin is breezing into the room, drawing all their attention. Okay, maybe “breezing” isn’t exactly right. It’s more like tornado-force-winding-with-a-purpose.

“You all owe me so many answers,” is what Lydia starts with, making Stiles flinch, because she isn’t wrong, but then she’s barreling onto something else.

Jackson. She wants to find Jackson. She knows something has been going on, but right now she just wants to find him and return something to him.

“There’s a lot going on right now,” Boyd says carefully, wanting to talk Lydia down from this. Last they’d heard, Jackson was _dead_ , according to the Sheriff, but Lydia seems to believe otherwise. And Stiles is just… he’s so tired, but Lydia looks desperate, and damn it he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt.

Looks like Mr. Has-One-Of-The-Only-Vehicles-Out-Of-This-Entire-Pack was needed after all…

**VvvvV**

Stiles watches as a very not-lizard, very naked Jackson Whittemore embraces Lydia Martin like he’s a drowning man and she’s his salvation. Stiles thinks, if this had happened only one or two months ago, he’d be a raging jealousy monster. At least on the inside.

But he isn’t. He’s happy, actually, that somehow they’d managed to cure the jackass and save the day. With _the power of loooove_. It felt very Disney.

Except nothing about this scene is Disney…

Stiles had driven his jeep this time around, with Lydia, Erica, and Boyd with him, and he’d charged through a _freaking wall_. It was all very epic, he told himself, but no one seemed to care because everything was already chaos. Allison looked like everything in her life was a lie and she was only now realizing it, Jackson kind of got hit by Stiles’s jeep, Gerard was melting, Derek looked heartbroken, and… yeah, no, Stiles was too overwhelmed. This was all too much.

So, Lydia ran out of the car towards Jackson and Stiles, after a cursory look around to assure that the battle was, basically, already over, stepped out and found a nice, dark corner to sit on the ground and wait.

He isn’t sure what it says about him that he hardly responds when he sees _Peter Fucking Hale_ walking around, alive, and helping them out. He isn’t sure what it says about him that, within all the noise and chaos and _everything-is-happening-at-once-how-does-one-keep-up_ , he just… sits there. Resting. Because he knows it will be over any second.

He wonders where Boyd and Erica went, though. They’d been in the jeep’s back seat, but he doesn’t see them now and, god, he really hopes they didn’t run away.

He really, really hopes they didn’t run away. Not only does he not think Derek could take it, he doesn’t think he can take it, either.

They’re his friends, damn it, he doesn’t want—

“Whatcha doing?”

Stiles squeaks, body tensing as someone plops down on the ground beside him. He glances over and immediately his shoulders are relaxing, because Erica has joined him. Boyd, quiet as ever, also moves to take a seat on Erica’s far side, a tired smile on his face, and Stiles is really, really happy they didn’t run.

“Where’d you both disappear to?” Stiles asks. The three of them feel like they’re in their own, little world, separate from everything else going on in the warehouse.

“Gerard disappeared,” Boyd says, nodding ahead of them, and Stiles looks over. Everyone is still focused on Jackson not being a kanima anymore that no one has noticed the black stain where Gerard had once been. Except, apparently, Erica and Boyd.

Then Erica is raising her hand, claws extended and vicious looking, and dripping with black goo. Black _blood._ “We took care of it, though,” she smiles, her expression slightly deranged and pleased, and Stiles can’t help the bubble of satisfaction in his chest.

“Do we know what happened?” Stiles asks, because he’s pretty lost on what went down these last few hours. Erica and Boyd both shake their heads, though, and Stiles sighs. He’ll need to talk to someone about all this.

“It would appear, dear sweet Scott, is a bit less dear and sweet than we thought,” comes a voice behind them and they all twist in surprise, only to come face-to-face with a looming Peter Hale.

“Who the hell are you?” Erica snaps, going to stand, but Stiles grabs her hand to stop her. He immediately lets go, though, because, ew, black, gooey blood.

“That’s Peter. Derek’s deranged uncle. Who was _supposed_ to be dead,” Stiles says, watching as Peter moves around to stand a few paces in front of them instead. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but Stiles can tell Peter isn’t at the top of his game. He holds himself tall, but he looks dreadful and there’s a pinch around his eyes that doesn’t look like it comes from old age.

“Well, I was never interested in following the rules,” Peter hums with a shrug and Stiles sighs.

“Do we have to worry about you trying to kill us in the immediate future?” he asks blandly and Peter smirks.

“Not at the moment,” the man assures. The tension in Stiles and the two Betas doesn’t leave, but Stiles is going to have to take it.

“Lovely. Now, what was that about Scott?”

So, Peter tells them how, apparently, Scott has been playing double agent this whole time, “working” for Gerard to spy on the pack, while feeding him misinformation as well as cancer pills filled with mountain ash, curtesy of Deaton. It seemed Gerard had wanted Derek to turn him, to cure him of his cancer, but then Scott had forced Derek to bite the man and, thanks to the pills, had sentenced him to a fate worse than death.

Part of Stiles kind of wishes Erica hadn’t finished the job.

Part of Stiles feels betrayed and disgusted by Scott.

Peter tells the story with a lot more flair and circumstance than necessary, and plenty of it is clearly made to twist Scott into a bad light, but even when Stiles unweaves the truth from the tall tale he feels… decidedly not okay.

Scott is over, talking with Allison, both of them looking grave, and Stiles… Stiles is angry. He’s angry and hurt because _What the hell, Scott?!_ They were supposed to be best friends and Scott was keeping secrets like this from him? He was keeping secrets from EVERYONE. Even if they weren’t all pack, they were supposed to be working together. Instead, he’d lied and manipulated and no one had known because, damn it, they all thought better of him than that.

Stiles grits his teeth and looks away, bile in his throat. Peter leaves, smirking something vicious, and Stiles doesn’t really care where he goes. A moment later they have an overjoyed Isaac barreling into their group, hugging Boyd and Erica for all his worth, and Stiles tries not to get jostled too much.

His ribs still hurt…

The three Betas seem so happy to see each other again. Stiles wonders what had been going through Isaac’s mind when Boyd and Erica had disappeared. If he’d thought they’d run off without him or if something worse had happened. It makes Stiles a little guilty for not shooting him a text earlier.

And then Derek is there, standing in front of them, looking devastated – likely from being forced to bite someone by a boy he’d tentatively been beginning to trust – but also so, so relieved to see his pack all alive and well.

“You’re here,” the Alpha says, and the three Betas look up at him. Stiles watches, curious and anxious all in one. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but he doesn’t want to leave either.

There’s a pause, heated and heavy, before Erica speaks up. “You’re a pretty shitty Alpha,” she says bluntly and Derek’s face pinches, but he doesn’t argue. He glances away, a pained look to him, and Stiles wants to make it go away, but he doesn’t interfere. “But we’re pretty shitty Betas, anyway.”

Derek looks back at that, his brows thrown upward in surprise, and the three Betas are smiling, tentative. “Everything’s been really awful lately, but…” Isaac hesitates and his eyes flick sideways, towards Stiles, before going back to Derek, “We should be figuring this out together instead of apart, right?”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Boyd speaks softly, voice firm and certain. Beside him, Isaac and Erica are nodding, and there are definite tears forming in their eyes. Derek doesn’t surge forward, not like Isaac, but he does crouch down, close, and then all the Betas are lunging at him. It’s some kind of puppy pile-embrace hybrid, but none of them seem to care what a mess they are, because they’re squeezing in close and grasping at each other like their lives depend on it.

Stiles’s smile hurts his face, both because of his bruises and because it’s so big, and he carefully stands. He lays a hand atop Derek’s head, urging him to look up, and he smiles a little softer at the Alpha’s open expression of wonder and happiness. There’s still devastation buried under it all, but it’s getting farther away. Good.

“Think you can get them all to my house?” he asks, “I’ll make dinner. We should all take a break after this.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but he does nod, that expression of wonder seeming to grow the longer he looks at Stiles. Stiles… isn’t sure what it must mean. “Make sure to offer Jackson and Lydia the same offer,” he continues, “And text Danny if they agree.”

“What are you doing?” Derek finally speaks, his brows furrowing and Stiles looks away. Allison is walking away with her father, Scott watching her go like a kicked puppy, completely unaware of the world around him. Stiles scowls.

“I need to talk to Scott,” he says lowly, dangerously.

“Don’t fight too much,” Isaac says quietly, worriedly, and Stiles’s hand moves to scratch at his scalp through his fluffy hair. It’s an absent gesture, but it seems to set the Beta at ease.

“I can’t promise anything,” he admits sadly, then steps away.

Jackson and Lydia are crouched on the ground, speaking so hushed Stiles doubts even the werewolves can hear them, and Stiles rolls his eyes. He takes a quick detour to dig out some sports shorts from him jeep and toss them at Jackson, who looks weirdly grateful. Stiles isn’t used to Grateful-Jackson.

“Derek’s gonna ask in a bit, but please go with them to my house,” Stiles says to them as he passes, voice low and pleading. Lydia looks surprised – and good lord they had a lot to fill her in on – but Jackson nods, too tired to snark, which was fair.

Then Stiles is marching up to a vacant looking Scott and grabbing his bicep. His friend looks over, surprised to see Stiles, then even more surprised to see the scowl on Stiles’s face.

“My jeep should still be working,” Stiles says, because he’s pretty sure he’s right. The headlights were still on and the engine still rumbling, despite the wall it had gone through.

Potholes? Obliterated the old car.

Charging through warehouse walls? Hardly a ding.

“Okay…?” Scott says slowly and Stiles’s eyes narrow.

“I’m driving you to your mom,” he says, no room for argument, “And we’re going to have a talk.”

**VvvvV**

They don’t speak at first.

The drive is ghostly silent for a long, long while, Stiles glaring ahead at the road and Scott glancing at him periodically, confused. The confusion only makes Stiles even angrier.

“Stiles…” Scott begins, voice careful, and Stiles’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. His knuckles go bone white. “Dude, what’s—”

“You didn’t tell anyone.”

Scott falls silent for a long moment, not expecting Stiles’s voice to be so calm in the face of the fury bleeding off of him.

“What?”

“You. Didn’t. Tell. Anyone,” Stiles repeats, slower, enunciating each word. “You were in cahoots with Gerard Argent, plotting against him, and you didn’t say a single word to anyone. Not to me. Not to the packs. Not to Derek—”

“Derek isn’t my Alpha,” Scott interrupts firmly, frustrated, but frustrated like a kid who is told he can’t have ice cream for dinner. Like it’s something irritating, but trivial.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Stiles exclaims and then swerves, so violently that Scott yelps and braces himself, and stops on the side of the road. They’re pretty close to the hospital by now.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Scott exclaims as the car is put in park and Stiles twists to face him.

“Is THAT what this is about?!” Stiles near shrieks, Scott’s brows shooting up in surprise as he leans away. Stiles can’t think of a time he has ever yelled at Scott like this. They’ve been angry with each other – of course they have, they’re best friends. Brothers – but never, full blown, yelled at each other. “Were you trying to prove something with this sneaking around bullshit?”

“I don’t need to fill Derek in on everything,” Scott retorts, shoulders setting. “I’m not under his control. Not like the others.”

“You think they’re under his control?” Stiles questions, dumbfounded. “What? Like Derek has mind control powers?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Stiles,” Scott is shaking his head, like he’s talking to an unruly child, and it makes Stiles somehow even angrier. “Back when Peter was Alpha, that pull… No, you wouldn’t get it. I’m not going to be controlled like that.”

“OH MY GOD!” Stiles bangs, hard, against his dash, fury exploding out in physical flailing, and he tries to reign himself in until he’s only quaking with rage. He ignores Scott’s shocked expression. “Control! Control! You did all this so you would feel like you’re in control?! Scott, people have _died_. We’ve been trying to stop that – _all of us –_ and you’ve been keeping secrets!”

“He threatened my mom, Stiles!” Scott bites back, his own anger building in response to Stiles’s own. “I couldn’t tell anyone!”

“Except Deaton,” Stiles snarls, “Where you got the mountain ash pills, right? You told him and, let me guess, he told you to keep quiet, too?”

“It was a good idea,” Scott defends, which isn’t a “no.” Stiles, for some time now, had been building a bit of a distrust for the veterinarian. The guy was mysterious to the point it was a problem, and Stiles didn’t like how much he played favorites. It was fishy and suspicious, but he didn’t have enough of the picture to understand why.

“No! It wasn’t!” Stiles throws his hands upward, flinching when they hit the roof of his car, and yanks them back down. “Every, single, _fucking_ problem we’ve had since this all started could have been fixed if we’d all, just, talked to each other!”

“Right, and you’re trying to fix that, right?” Scott growls, his eyes narrowing until they glow. “You’ve been trying to get so close to Derek’s pack lately… Do you even care about _this_ pack? The one you’re part of?”

“What pack, Scottie?!” Stiles makes a motion around them as if to emphasize how alone they both are right now. “The pack where the superpowered werewolf keeps secrets from the people he’s _supposed_ to trust? The pack where the human huntress went crazy with grief and, instead of talking to a therapist, went and skewered our friends with arrows and poison and electricity?”

“Your friends,” Scott tries to correct, but Stiles isn’t having it.

“OUR friends! Damn it, we got along! When we tried, when we put our stupid feud aside – a feud that means nothing – we got along and had fun and did great things together! Don’t even lie that you didn’t become friends with Isaac. Don’t even lie that you and Erica didn’t have the most epic Call of Duty matches. Or, wait, were you playing double agent during those times, too? Did it mean nothing to you?”

“ _No_ , but…” Scott trails off, scowling and looking away.

“But, what, Scott? What’s the problem here?”

“The _problem_ is that they aren’t my pack!” Scott roars, not sounding entirely human, and Stiles has to force himself from leaning back by instinct, his heart picking up speed.

“But why can’t they be?” the human urges and Scott’s scowl only grows.

“I refuse to let Derek be my Alpha,” the werewolf says lowly, voice rumbling dangerously, and Stiles sees red.

“GET OVER YOURSELF!” Stiles screams, flailing in rage again, this time smacking the back of his hand against the gear shift, cursing when it stings more than expected. “This is not about you! This – what you did? – how dare you try to make it about you!” Stiles ignores the pains in his hand, he ignores the pains all through his body, and instead jabs a finger at Scott.

“You have made everything about you! About lacrosse or Allison. About how becoming a werewolf _only_ affects you. Scott, you’re the only werewolf we’ve met who hates what you are on a regular basis!”

“I didn’t ask to be bit, Stiles!” Scott fires back, vibrating and angry, and Stiles puts his hands up placatingly.

“No, you didn’t,” Stiles agrees, because Scott _didn’t_ ask to be this. It was a horrible mistake, and probably Stiles’s fault since he dragged Scott out to the forest to begin with, but… “But it happened. And it’s done. And this is what you are now. The others are figuring out it isn’t all sunshine and roses, too, but at least they aren’t whining and complaining about it!”

They both stare at each other, fuming and breathing heavy, as if they’d been wrestling instead of arguing. The interior of the jeep is tense and weighted. Stiles hates this so, so much, because he never wanted to be in this kind of position with his best friend, but they couldn’t help it. Not anymore.

“You didn’t just manipulate Gerard, Scott. You manipulated me. You manipulated Derek. You manipulated _everyone_. For what? So you could pretend like you had a modicum of control? If you’d just _said something_ , we could have worked together,” Stiles tries to speak calmly, he really does, but the words come out through clenched teeth.

“Do you really believe we could have saved anyone if they’d helped?” Scott demands, sounding disbelieving and cynical, which is a weird tone for him. It didn’t fit, but Stiles was beginning to think this person before him wasn’t the Scott he’d once known.

“I don’t know,” Stiles growls, “Probably not! Everyone’s basically a huge mess, anyway, but at least there would have been trust! At least you wouldn’t have _lied_ to everyone and… fuck, dude, FINE. You don’t wanna be part of one, big pack? Fine! I think you’re an idiot, but _fine!_ You don’t want Derek to be your Alpha because… what? You’re trying to prove a point to literally no one? No worries there, because I doubt he’d ever trust you in his pack anymore after you… After…”

Stiles has to stop to take a breath, the anger closing up his throat, and _forces_ himself to continue. “The bite means something to him, Scott! It’s important, near sacred, and if you’d just told him what you were doing I’m sure he would have helped! But instead, you forced him to bite Gerard, you manipulated him, the man who had been used and thrown away like he’s nothing far more times than I can count!”

Oh, now there’s the regret. Stiles sees it the moment Scott realizes the gravity of his actions, at least in terms of their local, grouchy werewolf.

Scott has a big heart, but he’s thick. And stubborn. And apparently more selfish than Stiles thought he was, but Stiles isn’t sure if this is due to his werewolf status or something else. And, honestly, he doesn’t want to know. Maybe, after they’ve cooled down, he’ll want to help his friend, but right now… right now he’s just mad.

“If there is anyone in this town who has any right to play victim, it’s Derek Hale, not you. But he’s not going to do that. No, instead he’s going to try and gather up as many broken kids as he can and give them an opportunity to _not_ go through what he went through. And, yeah, he’s kind of a crappy Alpha! But he’s _so much better_ than he was before, but you’ve never even given him a chance! You just expect him and his pack to fail without actually _trying_ to be a team player.”

Stiles turns forward and lays his elbows on the wheel and his face in his hands, hunched over and breathing heavy. He didn’t want to be doing this. He didn’t want to be yelling at Scott. He didn’t want Scott to have done anything to warrant Stiles yelling at him. But here they were.

“If you don’t want to be part of Derek’s pack then that’s your choice. It was always your choice. You didn’t have to prove anything,” Stiles says softly, his voice wavering, and he knows he’s on the cusp of tears. “And whatever you decide to do, that’s your choice too, but if you do decide to form your own pack… I don’t think I can be part of it, dude. Not after all this…”

“I…” Scott begins, voice rough and hard, like he’s ready to argue, but he abruptly putters out. Stiles can see him out of the corner of his eye as the werewolf slowly turns forward, then sags in his seat. The weight of the situation, of his actions, is finally beginning to become clear to him and he looks defeated and horrified and sad. “I…” a bit softer this time, but again the werewolf stops himself, swallowing. “I understand…”

Stiles releases a long breath. It’s bittersweet, but he’s glad Scott isn’t arguing with him on this. He doesn’t think either of them could take it.

“Are…” Scott tilts his head to look out the side window so Stiles can hardly see him. There’s a shaky intake of breath that has the human sitting up straight, though, instinctive worry setting in. “Are we…” Scott’s hand swipes swiftly over his own face and Stiles realizes he’s crying. “We’re still friends, though, right…?”

Stiles is lurching over the center console before he realizes it, grabbing Scott firmly and dragging him into an awkward, painful hug, squeezing so hard he can hear the breath rush out of the werewolf’s lungs.

“I am _so mad_ at you, Scott, you wouldn’t even believe, but you are my _brother_. I love you, no matter what, I promise you that,” Stiles swears into Scott’s hair, his own voice wrecked, tears rolling down both their cheeks now.

“I love you, too, Stiles,” Scott hiccups, clinging back around Stiles’s shoulders, so tight there will likely be bruises. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Stiles sighs, hand patting at his best friend’s back, trying for reassuring. “You know, if you want the others to forgive you, you’re going to have to earn it, though, right?”

Scott lets out a weak, watery chuckle, nodding so Stiles feels it against his shoulder, and then nothing more is said.

They hug until Stiles’s ribs twinge too roughly, the ache forcing them to separate, both boys scrubbing viciously at their faces in a crappy effort to reestablish normalcy. It, of course, doesn’t work, but they’ve cried in front of each other plenty of times, so it isn’t too awkward.

Stiles doesn’t drive Scott all the way to the hospital, though. Scott slips out of the jeep, saying he’ll run the rest of the way, and Stiles decides it’s probably for the best. He sits in his jeep, alone, for a while, before turning around and heading in the direction of his home.

**VvvvV**

When Lydia had appeared at the Stilinski household earlier in the evening, demanding assistance from Stiles, Noah Stilinski had assumed there may have been some romantic undertones. He’d been wrong, but it meant that he was a bit more accepting of Stiles leaving to help her with whatever than Stiles had expected.

It also meant, since Stiles was gone, he’d went back to the station to do some overtime with the newest mysteries. With four of their numbers dead thanks to Matt, all officers were working a little extra.

So, when Stiles reached his home, his father was gone and the pack was already inside.

Jackson was situated on the couch, smooshed between Lydia and Danny, all three in some kind of blanket cocoon. Jackson looked at peace, which was weird, but so relieving to witness.

Erica and Boyd were mashed together on one recliner, looking half asleep, while Isaac sat on the ground tangled in their feet.

Derek probably was sitting in the second recliner, or standing in a corner like a creeper, but Stiles wouldn’t know because the Alpha is up and greeting Stiles when he comes in.

“We haven’t been here long,” Derek explains, glancing back towards the den as he and Stiles relocate to the kitchen. Stiles had promised dinner, after all.

“That’s fine,” Stiles shrugs, looking through his fridge to measure out what he can make. The exhaustion in his bones, however, is making him reconsider cooking. Ordering out sounds so much nicer. “You guys fill Lydia in?”

“On the way over,” Derek nods. Stiles tries to imagine, for a moment, how crowded the Alpha’s Camaro must have been and smirks at the thought. “They’re comfortable here.”

Stiles looks up, confused, and sees Derek is still watching his pack in the den. Isaac is speaking to Danny about something, the two smiling and chuckling on occasion, while Jackson keeps flexing and unflexing his hands, trying to figure out how to summon his claws, while Lydia watches. Erica and Boyd have definitely passed out by now.

“They’ve been here before,” Stiles shrugs, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms.

“It smells like pack in here,” Derek continues and, though he turns back in Stiles’s direction, his gaze is distant. Sad. Stiles thinks the last time Derek had likely had a place that smelled like pack it was his old home.

“They’ve been here a lot,” Stiles readjusts his statement, grinning, and Derek refocuses on him.

“Sure,” Derek nods a little, “but for somewhere to smell like pack… The pack has to feel at home, there. It doesn’t just happen because of proximity.”

Stiles tilts his head in thought, going over all he’d learned about packs from hanging around these werewolves. “Is it kind of like your pack bonds to each other, but to a place?” he wonders aloud and is rewarded with a surprised look on Derek’s face.

“In a manner… yes,” Derek nods, watching Stiles curiously. The silence is long enough for the human to begin to squirm, and then to finally twist and dig out the menus he and his father have for local take out places. He sorts through them, returning the ones he knows won’t be open back into the cupboard, and then turns back around. Derek is still there, but he’s inched closer, and he looks… sheepish. Which is not a normal look for the Alpha.

“How was your talk with Scott?”

Oh. Right. Shit.

“It was…” Stiles starts, waving around the stack of menus in one hand to show he’s gathering his thoughts. He wants to make it no big deal, he doesn’t want to pile anything else onto the pack, but he can’t lie either. “Hard. I think it was eye opening to Scott… I hope it was eye opening to Scott… He seems pretty remorseful and shit, and he knows he’s gonna have to earn everyone’s forgiveness, but…”

Stiles looks up at Derek, locking eyes with him, because this is important. “Neither he nor I expect you to forgive him. What he did… It was so many levels of not okay, Derek, he should never have—”

Heavy hands land on both of Stiles’s shoulders, cutting him off, and Derek looks down at him with a small, weak smile. “It’s going to be fine, Stiles,” he says on a whisper, like it’s a secret, and it makes Stiles’s lips wobble into a matching smile.

“Yeah… it will be,” he agrees, then reaches up to swipe over his eyes before he can start crying again. Derek leans forward, pressing his face into Stiles’s neck, and the human releases a long, stuttering breath. The hand not holding the menus comes up to curl into Derek’s shirt – which is clean and he must have had a spare in his trunk – and Derek’s hands move down to hold Stiles’s arms, gentle but steady.

“We gotta get you an apartment,” Stiles wheezes, trying to distract himself from the water works, and he feels Derek’s smile on his skin, which would usually make his heart skyrocket, but now just eases his nerves. “Get this pack smell all up in your own place.”

“Do you not like having it here?” Derek teases and, yeah, that’s definitely a nuzzle. He’s definitely nuzzling Stiles’s neck.

“Well, it’s not like I’m pack, so—”

Derek pulls his face away sharply, a frown marring his handsome features. Well, the guy’s usually frowning, but normally it’s more a resting bitch face. Now, he looks honestly upset.

“What?” Stiles asks, worried.

“You don’t think you’re pack?” Derek questions, a little disbelieving but mostly just upset. Upset over what, exactly, Stiles isn’t sure yet.

“Uh… Well, you were always saying I was part of Scott’s pack, right? I was just the one, like, bridging the gap or whatever, y’know? You guys are definitely my friends! And I care about you guys A LOT, but… come on, why would I think I was pack?” Stiles tries to speak lightly, like it’s no big deal, but Derek is getting more and more upset, and maybe a little sad, too? Oh god, what had Stiles done?

“Derek,” he speaks, trying for firm, but it comes out a little freaked out, because something wasn’t adding up. He wasn’t pack. He was the annoying human that dragged everyone out of their own asses. He was the annoying human that drove the Betas to school and urged Isaac outside and shopped online with Erica and always encouraged Boyd’s musical talents. He was the annoying human that gave Jackson a safe place to come and decompress, who saw the softness inside all these werewolf and human assholes around him. He was… He was…

“Derek, I don’t have special, wolfy powers, so you have to tell me things, you know that, right?” Stiles says slowly, a hint of a warning in his voice, because he wasn’t going to be taking any lies or half-truths with this. Derek shifts back, like he’s ready to turn and run, and Stiles drops the menus in one hand so he can reach out and wrap both arms around the Alpha’s waist.

Now, Stiles knows he can’t physically stop Derek, even if the guy was human those muscles could easily throw Stiles around, and all Stiles plans to do is cling hard enough that Derek won’t be able to dislodge him.

Except… Derek goes stiff, freezes, like Stiles’s grip actually _can_ hold him there, and the human carefully reels him back in. They’re chest to chest now, Stiles’s arms tightening around the older man’s waist, and he’s pretty sure they’re both blushing like idiots.

Whatever. It was working, wasn’t it?

“Derek…” Stiles speaks lowly, the werewolf looking anywhere but at Stiles, but then he freaking _shivers_ and Stiles may just have a conniption. Because, oh my god, he’d just made Derek “Hot Without Even Trying” Hale _shiver_.

No man should have this kind of power.

“Am I part of your pack?”

“It’s,” Derek still isn’t looking at him, “It’s a choice, Stiles, you know that.”

“Okay,” Stiles allows, a smile tugging at his lips, and he rephrases. “Do you consider me, with those werewolf instincts of yours, as part of your pack?”

Derek is quiet, so quiet, and it seems to be answer enough but Stiles wants to actually hear it. Communication, after all, had been one of his big hang ups, and he needed to actually hear this from the Alpha.

“Yeah…” Derek breathes and his eyes, finally, turn back to Stiles. They’re glowing red, but it’s a warm and welcome red. Not a red for enemies, but a red for pack. “Yeah, I do. We all do. Have for a while.”

The smile that grows on Stiles’s face is blinding, his eyes crinkling with the force of it, and he sees Derek’s eyes flick down to the pull of the lips. “Well, good. It would have been awkward if I started calling you my pack and they didn’t feel the same,” he says lightly and Derek’s brows rise up quickly. Stiles was kind of having fun surprising the Alpha so much, but the thought fades as Derek, yet again, shoves his face into Stiles’s neck. It shocks a chuckle out of the human.

“You know, you can’t hide in my neck forever,” he stage whispers for effect.

“Watch me,” Derek grumbles back, definitely nuzzling again, his stubble rubbing Stiles’s pale skin raw.

Eventually, though, Derek does stop hiding and they slowly, grudgingly, separate. Stiles bends down to pick up the dropped menus, and when he straightens, he’s grinning. They head back into the den together, the atmosphere lazy but content. Everyone seems happy to just be alive at this point.

“Traumatized, cured lizard gets to pick dinner,” Stiles announces, shoving the menus at Jackson, who immediately zeroes out the iHop menu mixed into the middle. Breakfast for dinner. Probably the best, feel good choice they could make.

Derek is the one to actually order, since it’s his card that’s paying for it this round, and Danny volunteers to pick it up.

About forty-five minutes later, everyone is resituated in the den with breakfast food scattered across the coffee table. Derek takes his place in the second recliner, three take away boxes of French toast in his lap, and Stiles plops onto the ground in a pile of blankets and pillows. Isaac, untangling himself from Boyd and Erica’s legs, shifts to sit beside him in the blanket pile while the other two Betas wake just enough to grab their own food.

When the food is mostly gone, Stiles offers to grab a video game they can all play from his room, which he earns a resounding, positive response for, and he hurries up the stairs to grab Mario Party.

He’s hardly even left the bedroom, however, when he hears multiple screams and yells from downstairs. He nearly trips and cracks open his skull when he lunges down the stairs, eyes frantic, baseball bat in his grip as he charges into the den.

“What?! What is it?! What’s attacking?!” he demands, except… no one’s attacking. For the most part, everyone’s still in their seats, save Derek, who has stood up. They’re all leaning forward, though, and when Stiles follows their gaze… Jackson is still sitting there, bundled up in his friends and blankets, but his eyes are huge and his hand is raised where he’d finally managed to unsheathe his claws.

Claws that are dripping kanima venom.

“Are you not cured?” Danny asks, looking terrified for his friend, and Isaac flaps his hand at Lydia frantically.

“Quick! Kiss him again! He may need more love or something!” Isaac shrieks, but snaps his mouth shut when Lydia shoots him a glare.

Derek is stepping forward, though, and carefully taking Jackson’s wrist. The blond twitches, not quite a flinch, but physically forces himself to allow Derek to touch him. “Do you still feel any kind of link to anyone? Any kind of desire to do something that isn’t your own?” Derek asks, red eyes examining the claws. They glisten with the paralytic venom, but don’t drip with it.

“No. It’s just me,” Jackson shakes his head, gaze flicking from his claws, to Derek, then around the room. Gone was his previous calm. Now, he looks terrified.

“No one’s going to hurt you, dude,” Stiles assures, setting the baseball bat against the side of Erica and Boyd’s recliner. “We’re pack, right?” his gaze catches with Derek’s, for a moment, and he nods. “We help each other.”

“Are you aware of yourself right now?” Danny asks, his hand sliding onto Jackson’s arm to squeeze reassuringly. Lydia is already plastered to the teen’s other side. “You’re not disassociating?”

“No, I’m… here. I’m fully aware and in complete control,” Jackson shakes his head, shoulders slowly beginning to relax. Derek releases his wrist but doesn’t step back. Instead, the Alpha crouches down, looking over the first person he’d ever bit, but the newest member to his pack.

“Try and focus on your eyes,” Derek says and, within a second, Jackson’s eyes glow blue. But then, as he continues to concentrate, the blue shifts, the pupil thins, and abruptly his eyes are reptilian once more. Lydia, beside him, digs out a small compact mirror so Jackson can see his reflection.

The jock doesn’t freak out at the reflection, either, like his full kanima-self had.

“What does this mean?” Erica asks as Jackson blinks and his eyes return to normal. “I thought he was a werewolf now. He howled and everything!”

“Has a kanima ever been cured before?” Lydia asks sharply, turning to look at Derek, but the Alpha can only shrug.

“I’m not sure. Likely not, but if we want more information we’ll probably have to ask Peter,” Derek replies. Immediately, Lydia is stiffening, fear overtaking her expression, before she flips her hair and puts on a mask quicker than Stiles has seen Derek do.

“No need for that,” she scoffs, then looks back at Jackson. “It’s completely possible this will all fade with time.”

“Or I’m stuck with it forever,” Jackson says back, sharper than Stiles thinks is necessary, but Lydia doesn’t seem bothered.

“But now these powers are _yours_ ,” she says firmly, with no room for argument, and Jackson sags some under her confidence and authority. Stiles watches, fascinated, at the conversation, but smiles nonetheless.

“I’m just glad I can keep up the lizard jokes with you, now. They’re a gold mine of material,” Stiles cackles, effectively cutting the tense atmosphere as Jackson shoots him a withering glare.

Erica is up and moving, then, and holding out her hand towards Jackson so her claws are pointing up. “Put yours next to mine,” she orders abruptly when Jackson only stares at her, “I wanna see whose is bigger.”

That earns a few snorts around the room, making Lydia grumble something about boys and brains in gutters, but Erica only grins bigger when Jackson slowly raises his glistening claws. Then, it’s Jackson’s turn to smirk and Erica begins to pout.

Kanima claws are longer than werewolf ones.

“Wait, no, compare them to Boyd’s! He’s bigger in general!” Stiles urges, moving to flop back into his spot on the floor beside Isaac. Boyd arches a brow, but rolls his eyes and slowly gets up, taking his sweet time to move towards the couch.

As he’s moving, though, Isaac has the idea, “Wait! Does this mean you can regrow your _tail?”_ Isaac, Erica, and Stiles all “ooo” in interest while Derek goes back to his recliner and flops down, content to let the teenagers act like, well, teenagers.

“I don’t know,” Jackson admits, then he shifts and stands up. He’s still shirtless and he shuts his eyes to concentrate, his brows creasing together, and they all wait with bated breath. For a while, nothing happens, and Stiles is beginning to believe that venom, long claws, and creepy eyes was all that Jackson could have retained. It’s a bit of a downer, but it’s understandable.

But then Lydia is yelping and springing out of the way as a long, scaled appendage just about erupts from Jackson’s lower back. “Oh my god!” Danny yells, ducking out of the way when the appendage swings near him, and Jackson’s eyes pop open. He twists his body to look behind him, his eyes huge as he watches the addition to his body wave around.

Jackson straightens back up and turns to address them all, mouth hanging open, before he announces, “I have a tail!”

The room erupts in excited and baffled yells, the teenagers immediately demanding they test out the tail in increasingly bizarre and dangerous ways. Stiles, for a moment, catches Derek’s eye. The Alpha’s eyes are wide and red, but the rest of his body reads, “This might as well be happening,” and Stiles grins at him.

What a way to end the nigh—

“Stiles?”

The _entire room_ freezes in their tracks, bodies going stiff in a mix of terror and surprise. Stiles thinks his heart might have actually stopped, the blood in his veins running cold, and he stops breathing.

It takes everything for him to turn his head enough to find the source of the voice, even though he already knows who had spoken. He just prays he imagined it. Prays the entire pack imagined it. But no… No, it can’t be that easy. The universe can’t give him this, not even once.

Because there Noah Stilinski stands, just outside the den, staring in with eyes like saucers. His gaze flicks over Jackson, tails and claws on display, Erica and Boyd, claws still out, Derek, eyes glowing red, and then settles on Stiles.

“Room full of werewolves and no one noticed my dad come in?” Stiles whispers under his breath and Isaac whimpers beside him.

“It’s been a long night,” the blond tries to defend himself, but it falls flat with the way he, and the whole room, are staring at the Sheriff in horror.

“Dad,” Stiles swallows and, by some miracle, manages to get his feet under him and push himself to standing. His legs shake, his whole body shakes, as he and his father lock eyes. This was it. This was the end. Stiles was officially doomed. “So, I might have some things I need to explain…”

**VvvvV**

“A loft?”

Stiles pauses as he passes by the kitchen on his way to his bedroom. He peaks in and spies his father sitting at the kitchen table, looking over papers and brochures with the same intensity he might with a case. He’s even dressed in his uniform, ready to head out to work in a few minutes, only momentarily distracted.

Sitting beside him is Derek Hale, also eying the papers, but mostly glancing at Noah.

“Yes, sir,” Derek nods, picking up a piece of paper that has the information they must be going over. “It’s got plenty of space and no neighbors.”

The Sheriff’s face pinches, slightly displeased, and Stiles tries not to laugh. “It’s also barren and cold. You really want to live somewhere like this?”

It had been about a week since Jackson was cured, Stiles officially joined the Hale pack, and Noah Stilinski had unwittingly stumbled upon the truth of the supernatural. It had taken… a long time to calm Stiles’s father down after the realization, then it had taken a long time to calm Stiles down from his panic, but once everyone was relatively calm, explanations had finally come out.

Noah had looked like he aged twenty years sitting right there, learning about werewolves and hunters and kanimas. Stiles had hated it. Hated it more than anything. The lies and secrets had separated he and his father, but they’d kept him _safe._ Now? Now what were they supposed to do?

But then his father was calling him the smartest idiot he’d ever seen and dragged him into a crushing hug. There may have been crying… okay, there was definitely crying, and not just from the Stilinski men. Stiles had looked sideways, at one point, and saw Erica swiping at her eyes while tears were freely running down Isaac’s face.

It was all very sweet and exhausting and stressful.

Then Stiles had been grounded for the rest of his days, and, yeah, he should have seen that coming, and then Noah was going around and making sure everyone was okay. Because that was the kind of man he was.

Now, the entire pack was given permission to drop in at the Stilinski household as needed, unless told otherwise, and Derek… well…

Derek had been forced, upon paternal glaring, to move into the guest room until he found a proper place to live, which also meant that, fundamentally, Isaac lived with them, too, now.

It was incredibly strange and incredibly entertaining, mostly because no one in the pack knew how to handle Sheriff Stilinski yet, and Stiles was no help at all.

“I can’t live in most apartments,” Derek shakes his head, “Neighbors are too packed in or there’s not enough room. This is my best option.”

“Well…” Stiles’s father begins slowly, leaning back in his seat. He’d been helping Derek look for a permanent address ever since he’d found out how tough it had been on the man. Derek had been against it, at first, but now… now he seemed to need the Sheriff’s approval. He hides it well, and none of the rest of the pack has noticed, but Stiles definitely has.

“Apartment living is good for those who either have to watch their money, or they don’t plan to stay long,” the Sheriff is saying, attention on Derek now, and the Alpha’s shoulders stiffen. “You have plenty of funds to get a house – a good house, with a yard and space – so why not do that?”

Derek is quiet for a while, shuffling his fingers through the mess on the table, eyes distant. “I was hoping to fix up my old home, eventually.”

“Okay,” Noah nods, “But that could take years. You’ll likely have to tear it down, first, anyway. By the time you get it finished, you’d likely be able to sell the house you get in the meantime for more.”

Derek doesn’t say a word and it is definitely time for the Sheriff to head to work. The elder man sighs and lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder as he stands and passes by. “Think about it, son. It’s your decision, in the end.”

Stiles watches his father go, a small smile on his face. Nevermind Danny, Noah Stilinski is the original douchebag whisperer around here.

“I know you’re there, Stiles,” Derek is abruptly saying, making the teenager jump, before sliding slowly into the kitchen. He glowers at Derek, only for the other man to smirk right back, and moves to lean against the kitchen table with his hip. He lifts up a random brochure.

“Are you really sure you want to rebuild the Hale House?” Stiles cuts to the chase, watching the smirk slip from Derek’s face and his whole body, instinctively, go on the defensive. But then, slowly, Derek urges himself to relax. Stiles can almost see him reminding himself that there are no threats here and talking isn’t evil.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Derek asks, not entirely free of the defensive tone, but better.

Stiles arches a disbelieving brow. “Uh, because it’s a massive reminder of the worst moment of your life? Because the bad memories aren’t worth the good? Because you could just be hurting yourself more if you tried to force yourself back there out of some sense of obligation?”

“Obligation,” Derek repeats slowly, eyes narrowing. “Obligation to _my family_ , Stiles. A family who is dead.”

“A family who loved you and wouldn’t want you to punish yourself like this,” Stiles retorts, because this may not be the first time they’ve had this conversation…

The human takes a deep breath, calming himself before their voices begin to rise, and instead moves forward. Where the neck nuzzling had once been awkward, now it felt natural, and it was a surefire way to calm down a grouchy Alpha. They tried not to do it while the rest of the pack was around – because, yeah, it was still pretty intimate – even though the rest of the pack was incredibly tactile now that Stiles was officially one of them – hair nuzzles, shoulder touches, hugs, and neck caresses were just some of the things Stiles had quickly grown used to.

Now, though, they are alone – Isaac off with Lydia to finally upgrade his phone – and Stiles presses against Derek’s neck until he feels the man relax. One of the Alpha’s palms splays out against Stiles’s ribs, feeling the rise and fall of the human’s breath. Stiles isn’t sure what’s been building between the two of them, but it’s clear _something_ has, and he’d really like it to come to fruition sooner rather than later.

“You make so many decisions based on what you think other people will think of you,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s neck, feeling the muscles twitch against his lips, “Including the opinions of people who aren’t even around anymore. But have you ever thought that our biggest concern is you finding a place that makes _you_ happy?”

Judging by the face Derek is making when Stiles pulls away, no. No, he hadn’t been thinking that. It makes the smile on Stiles’s face turn sad. The world has treated this man so poorly for so long. “We care about you, you know. This whole pack thing; it’s a give and take. You learn, we learn. You teach, we teach. You care, we care. Get it?”

Derek snorts, rolling his eyes, trying to cover the vulnerability even though he doesn’t need to. He’s gotten better at opening up, though, so Stiles can’t be too upset. It’s like it makes him exhausted, after a time, and he has to close his walls once more to recuperate.

“Your hair’s begun to grow out,” Derek is saying in way of distraction, and Stiles lets him have it. He’s said what he needed to say, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of ditching the buzzed look,” Stiles nods, running a hand over his head. It’s still short and prickly, but he can almost run his fingers through the locks, now. He figures a new look wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

“Getting rid of a signature feature is ballsy,” Derek hums, smirking as the hand not on Stiles’s ribs comes up to run over the hair, too.

“No worries, I’m still keeping the plaid and the red hoodie,” Stiles laughs, absently pushing back against the hand on his head.

“Of course you are, Little Red Riding Hood.”

Stiles levels Derek with a deadpan look before saying, “I know where you sleep, Hale, watch it.”

**VvvvV**

The first time Stiles talks to Scott again, it isn’t with good news.

“A pack? Of _Alphas?_ ” Scott repeats, standing in the locker room after practice with a shocked look on his face. “How does that even work?”

“No clue,” Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. They’d found the Alpha pack’s triskelion painted into the Hale House’s front door the day before. Well, Peter had found it, then brought Derek, Stiles, and the Sheriff out to see it. Stiles’s father couldn’t do much beyond informing his deputies and officers to keep an eye out for suspicious, unfamiliar characters, but it was something.

Now, Stiles stood with Scott, alone for the first time in a while, updating his friend on the new threat.

“Is it even a threat, though?” Scott asks, closing his locker a pulling on a clean shirt. “You said Peter and Derek don’t think they’re going to attack right away, right?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s their thing. Warn the local pack of their presence, let them panic and attempt to build defenses, then attack,” Stiles explains. They’d just gotten out of their last threat, and now they were already onto the next one. It was draining, but at least they would have time to prepare, now. They were a pack, stronger together, and they wouldn’t be easily thrown off by threats.

“Did you… need me to do anything?” Scott asks slowly, looking apprehensive, and Stiles sighs.

“Nah, dude, you just deserved to know. You might be in danger, and if things get rowdy, you and your mom are welcome to stay at my house.”

“Your dad is okay with that?”

“It was his idea, actually,” Stiles admits and Scott offers a small smile. Stiles was mad at him, but no one was going to leave Scott to be picked off with ease. Well… maybe some of the pack would, but they were just mad, too, and they didn’t have the connection to Scott that Stiles did.

“You, uh… you doing alright, dude?” Scott asks after they lapse into silence for an awkward moment of time.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m doing good. Derek and Isaac are staying at my place until Derek finds an apartment or house or cave. You should see them with my dad, though! I’m pretty sure they both think he hung the moon.”

Scott snorts, a quick giggle escaping him, and Stiles smiles back.

“How are you doing, man?” Stiles asks, head tilted.

“Uh… fine. Good. Alright. Fine.”

“You said ‘fine’ twice.”

“I’m doubly fine?”

Stiles arches a brow. “You miss Allison,” he observes, because it’s pretty obvious. Allison hadn’t returned to school, but last Stiles knew she was still in town. For now.

“She’s, uh… she’s going to France, you know? With her dad. I don’t know how long,” Scott admits quietly, looking down at the floor, and Stiles nods.

“Good for them. They deserve some time away from this place. Hell, I wouldn’t mind a bit of a vacation.” And wasn’t that a thought? The whole pack going to the beach for a weekend. It could be fun. It could be _good_. Pack bonding and healing. It was important stuff.

“Yeah…” Scott agrees with a small nod before they are lapsing into silence once more.

“This has to be the most awkward conversation we’ve ever had. And we discovered porn together, dude,” Stiles finally groans, hands coming up to scrub at his face, and Scott makes a very similar noise of distress. They had never had an issue filling in each other’s silences, or enjoying the breaks between subjects, but now… now they had to relearn each other, and it was a maze of uncertainty they weren’t used to.

“Listen… I won’t hold this up anymore,” Scott finally decides, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. “Thanks for talking. I liked it…”

“Yeah, Scottie, me too,” Stiles says back and he means it.

**VvvvV**

Stiles thinks, if it weren’t for the supernatural stuff and the relationship with Scott, he and Allison would have been pretty good friends. They were friends, definitely, and maybe they still had a chance in the future, but there was a definite strain thanks to everything going on in their young lives.

It didn’t help that she’d stuck his friends full of arrows and stabbed some people with knives, but Stiles tried to remind himself that she had been manipulated as much as the rest of them. Gerard Argent was a monster and only saw his granddaughter as a means to an end.

Allison realized that, too, now, but it didn’t change what had happened.

Which was why, sitting with her in her living room, they found themselves in a remarkably tense silence.

“So…” Allison began, rubbing her palms on her jeans, her lips pinching and twisting in uncertainty, and her eyes flick backwards towards her father’s study. “What do you think is taking so long?”

Stiles looks back at the closed doors. Within, their fathers are conversing, but he hadn’t expected them to be gone for so long. “Dad had wanted some wolfbane bullets for his revolver. Maybe your dad is showing him some other weapons he could use? I’m certainly not complaining if my dad has more defenses.”

“Who does he intended to shoot with them?” Allison questions, looking a little panicked, but Stiles just snorts.

“It’s not about who he wants to shoot, it’s about being prepared for the worst situation. A cop’s not supposed to go for their gun first,” he fades off, brows pinching, “At least, they’re not supposed to, and my dad firmly believes in what a cop is _supposed_ to be.”

“He’s a good man,” Allison agrees, smiling when Stiles looks back at her.

“Yeah, he is.”

They slip into silence, both sipping at glasses of water at the same time and looking around the room for something to talk about. This wasn’t like the silences with Scott. With Scott, it was about relearning each other, but with Allison… With Allison, there wasn’t anything to relearn. They just didn’t know each other well enough on their own. They’d always had some kind of buffer before.

“How much does the pack hate me?” Allison is suddenly asking and it is so abrupt it startles a laugh out of Stiles.

“Uh, some more than others,” he admits honestly, smile a little more apologetic this time. “I think you heading to France is going to be good for us all. You deserve a break, and they need time to remember you’re a teenager too.”

“I feel awful for what I did,” Allison whispers, head ducked, and her dark hair cascading around her like a veil. She’s beautiful, she really is. “I don’t even know how to begin to apologize.”

“Slowly?” Stiles suggests, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m serious about this trip being good for all of you. But, when you get back, don’t be afraid to tell the truth. Avoiding them will only make things worse.” Allison tilts her head to look over at him and he makes a strange hand motion that really doesn’t mean anything to anyone but him. “And maybe bring souvenirs. I’ll text you what they like.”

Allison giggles, cheeks bunching up and eyes pinching at the corners, and Stiles truly hopes she’s going to be alright.

**VvvvV**

“Thank you so much for coming!” Stiles calls to Mr. Tylers as he heads out of his home, just as Boyd is walking up. The large werewolf watches the old man walk to his car, far more spry in his step than most seventy-year-olds, before looking back at Stiles in clear confusion.

“Oh, yeah, that’s Mr. Tylers. He works at the music store downtown. Apparently he and my dad go back?” Stiles shrugs, ushering Boyd inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Okay…?” Boyd still looks confused, but that’s to be expected. After all, Stiles had texted him, on a Wednesday afternoon after school, to come over to his house ASAP. He hadn’t explained why, had only said he needed Boyd, and that was it. It was testament to how much they’d grown that the other boy had actually shown up.

“So, Derek decided to get a house instead of an apartment,” Stiles begins to say, leading Boyd through the house and towards one of the lesser used hallways. It mostly led to closets, storage, and a single bathroom no one liked to use except for emergencies.

“I heard,” Boyd nods. It was great news, and a great location, with a backyard that led out into the woods and neighbors too far away and private to worry about. It was on the expensive side, but Derek had a lot of money from his family that he could use, plus his own savings from living so barren for so long.

“Right, so I’m helping him fill it because, seriously, what he calls minimalistic, I call depressing,” Stiles continues, turning and opening one of the doors. This door used to scrape on the floor, disfigured from past water damage, but Derek had fixed it a few days back when Stiles had wanted to get in. Inside is a mess of boxes and crates of storage. The Stilinski’s don’t have enough stuff to warrant a storage room, but it’s enough to make them look a little like hoarders.

“You guys going to IKEA for date night?” Boyd questions, smirking, and Stiles throws a glare over his shoulder at him. He and Derek had been able to restart their Thursday Breath Breaks, just as pack bonding had been able to restart on Sundays, and everyone had begun calling Thursdays Derek and Stiles’s date night. Stiles suspects Jackson’s influence…

When Stiles doesn’t say anything further, however, Boyd just about beams. For Boyd, anyway. “You _are_.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re driving out right after school. If you can convince Derek, you’re more than welcome to come. But I figured you’d be more interested in _this_ ,” Stiles finally drags Boyd into the messy room. The junk had clearly been moved recently, making a path over to the side of the room, and Boyd looks over before freezing.

Tucked against the wall, looking old but elegant, is an upright piano. There is no piano bench, Stiles think the old one died a sad, moldy death, but he’d dragged a fold out chair in front of it for the time being.

“It was my mom’s,” Stiles is saying, watching as Boyd makes his way over, his hands hovering over the polished mahogany. “I had Mr. Tylers come by to tune it,” he explains and Boyd looks back at him, looking vulnerable and confused.

Music _meant_ something to Boyd, Stiles could tell. The other boy didn’t talk about it – he didn’t talk much about anything – but the way he was constantly gravitating towards the school piano any time they ate lunch in the music room, or that he actually talked about his old piano lessons, without being pressured, on a regular enough basis… It said a lot for the quiet werewolf. Stiles didn’t know _what_ music meant to Boyd, but he didn’t need to. He just knew it was important.

“Figured we could move it to Derek’s new place. He needs some music in his life, anyway, and we’re going to probably be there a lot,” Stiles shrugs and Boyd turns back to the piano. He opens the lid, looking down at the black and off-white keys, and his head tilts.

“What happened here?” he’s asking and Stiles moves closer to look. The keys really show the age of the instrument. It had been owned by his mother’s grandparents before she’d received it, and it had aged beautifully, but that isn’t what Boyd is looking at.

No, he’s looking at the white keys that have chipped ends or cracks along the middle. They all appear in one, immediate area, and Stiles feels his face flush.

“Oh, right… so…” he begins sheepishly, hands flapping over the cracked keys. “I wanted to play drums when I was younger, right? And I had a drum pad, which was great, but also these drum sticks I took with me everywhere…”

“You didn’t…” Boyd’s mouth momentarily falls open, just a little bit, before he’s fighting back a smile and chuckling so deeply his back and shoulders shake.

“I did…” Stiles groans, looking down at the keys. It’s embarrassing but it’s a good memory. He’d banged his sticks on the piano keys, thinking he’d invented a new type of instrument, and his father had swooped in to stop him, frantically looking over the keys, until his mother had joined them and begun to laugh. She’d said it gave the piano character and Stiles had beamed proudly at her.

When Stiles had told his father he thought they should bring the piano to Derek’s new house, for Boyd to practice whenever he wanted, his father had been… happy wasn’t the right word. More along the lines of relieved. This piano was meant to be passed down, but it was too painful to truly keep in their home.

This… this felt like they were still keeping it in the family, in a way, and Derek had seemed touched that they wanted to move it in with him.

“Do you think they’ll have piano benches at IKEA?” Boyd is suddenly asking, taking a seat in the folding chair anyway and placing his fingers over the piano keys.

Stiles smirks. “Guess you’ll have to come along and find out.”

**VvvvV**

The IKEA trip quickly goes from being a Stiles and Derek thing, to a Stiles and Derek and Boyd thing, to a Stiles and Derek and Boyd and Erica and Isaac thing, to a full pack thing. It’s hysterical watching Derek definitely-not-pout as he wrangles in the puppies/lizard and everyone keep “apologizing” for “ruining date night.”

Stiles thinks it’s pretty fun, though, mostly because his main purpose being there is ensuring Derek actually furnishes his home. With furniture. And colors. Having all the pack there basically does that for him, especially with Lydia taking the lead with color design.

The girl is a whirlwind, knowing exactly what works with what and what’s worth the money and what’s not. Derek tries to keep up near the beginning, but wisely just lets her make her own decisions after a while. Jackson even gives him a sympathetic pat on the back at one point.

Stiles ends up helping everyone pick out smaller fixtures and furnishings specific to them, rather than for the house as a whole. He helps Boyd find a good bench. Technically it’s not a piano bench, but it’s the right height and comfortable, according to Boyd.

With Erica he ends up spotting some small, personal shelves that she can use in the bathroom to help separate and organize her stuff. Stiles suggests the same for Lydia, but the girl claims she has no intention of bringing any of her toiletries over.

Danny grabs her one, anyway, when she isn’t looking, winking as Stiles as he passes.

With Isaac, Stiles helps find the softest, fluffiest comforter in the entire store. Isaac is going to have his own room at the house, while the others will come and go as needed, so he gets to furnish it however he wants. Stiles definitely doesn’t complain about getting tossed onto a multitude of beds and comforters by an overexcited werewolf, just to see how much he bounced/sunk.

Bounce/Spring ratios are important and he and Isaac are scientists. At least, that’s what they’re telling Derek.

Jackson doesn’t need much, he can bring most of his stuff from home if he needs, but when Stiles says he’s planning on bringing the PS3 to the new house, they look for good shelfing for the consoles, games, and television. They do end up having a bit of a disagreement on which to go with, too. Stiles quite likes the Lommarp, while Jackson likes the Byås.

“You can’t even pronounce it right!” Stiles snaps at one point.

“How would you know? Your Polish, not Swedish!” Jackson snapped back.

Derek ended up picking the Hemnes, on his own, ignoring their input.

Danny didn’t actually need anything, Stiles found out, he’d just come along to watch and negate some of the chaos. Stiles could respect that, and there is a point where they are both sitting in one of the warehouse’s fake living rooms, watching as the pack ran back and forth like actual wild animals.

When it is all over and done with, Stiles and Derek end up back at the Alpha’s new home, which is mostly barren still, while the pack disappear into the night. Stiles was still glaring at the front door where Erica had blown him a kiss and slammed it shut, leaving he and Derek alone with boxes and boxes of furniture.

“Help pick everything out, but leave us to do all the work,” Stiles shakes his head, finally turning back to Derek. The man is a muscly god amongst men, but sitting on the floor, in the middle of so many boxes, Derek look comically small and lost. Even with his glare.

“Us? We both know I’m going to end up doing all of the work,” Derek growls, turning to look around for the couch they’d bought.

“What? I’ll help!” Stiles yelps, hand flying to his chest, and Derek doesn’t even look up.

“Sure, sure, and when you get lost trying to build something because you didn’t look at the instructions, I’ll have to undo what you’ve done and build it from scratch,” the Alpha says absently, finally finding what he wanted and getting to work opening up the box.

Stiles huffs, insulted, and decides that if Derek doesn’t want his help than he won’t get it. His eyes stray to a box for a desk Erica had wanted. Not for homework, but rather because she’d been thinking of starting some kind of makeup how-to channel on YouTube.

It’s all kind of funny, really, the juxtaposition of their lives. Less than a month ago they’d been fighting for their lives. Now, they were finally becoming a proper pack, Derek had a house, and they were having big, group outings to IKEA because it was fun.

The fact that another threat was waiting just around the corner for them was not lost on Stiles. The Alpha Pack is out there, and Derek has been putting them all through training like never before. Even Stiles was being taught some helpful self-defense by the wolves. Despite the peace they were finding in each other’s company, they couldn’t let their guards down. Not yet.

“I’m thinking of talking to Deaton soon,” Stiles announces as he heads for the kitchen. It was the only, mostly furnished room in the house. The pack were ravenous on a good day and Derek had quickly filled the kitchen with proper appliances and snack foods. It still needed some finishing touches and utensils, plus some real food options, but it was better than nothing.

“Why?” Derek questions, just loud enough for Stiles to hear, and the teen returns to the living room with two cans of Coke.

“To figure out more stuff with this so-called ‘Spark’ he mentioned before,” Stiles replies, sitting beside the Alpha on the ground, pressed close so he can spread out all the pieces for the furniture. “It’d be pretty helpful if I could do more than spread mountain ash, use google, and drive werewolves around.”

Derek pauses when he reaches out to take one of the Coke cans, his brows furrowing as he looks at Stiles in what is likely concern. Stiles is getting better at reading his minute expressions.

“Stiles…” the Alpha begins, careful and far more delicate than he should be able to be, but Stiles lays a hand on his bicep and squeezes.

“I’m not worried about my worth,” Stiles cuts him off, a reassuring smile on his face, and allows his hand to drift up and over Derek’s shoulder before settling on the back of his neck. He’s learned, whenever he does this to the Betas, it puts them at ease. He isn’t sure if it will work on the Alpha, but a moment later the man is just about melting into him, eyes fluttering.

“Being part of this pack,” Stiles continues, watching in part-amusement, part-fascination how the Alpha werewolf reacts to him, “it means a lot. I used to think I was kind of useless – like all the things I did were easily replaced, but I haven’t felt that way in a while. You all make me feel important.”

Derek is leaning in to nose at Stiles’s neck, the human’s hand still lightly massaging over his neck, feeling the bumps of his spine and the tendons relaxing. “It is mutual,” the older man rumbles and Stiles feels his chest bloom with warmth, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, well, if there is anything else I _could_ be doing to help, then it’s my responsibility to pursue it and learn all I can. Even if that means I have to talk to creepy vets. Creepy, mysterious vets,” Stiles continues, frowning a little at the thought of having to sort through Deaton’s mysterious comments. The man was a puzzle, and so were his lessons, if one could even call them that.

He expects Derek to pull away, continue the conversation or get back to work on the couch frame, but that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen, because Derek is pressing in closer, rubbing his stubble against the sensitive side of Stiles’s neck until the teen is yelping and snorting with ticklish giggles, trying to squirm away. He doesn’t get far, though, because Derek’s arms are circling his waist and yanking him closer.

Closer.

Closer.

And then right into his lap.

They’ve been close, very close, before, but nothing like this. Nothing _this_ blatantly suggestive. It makes Stiles’s face flame red, heart hammering, but then shrieking again when Derek’s nuzzling hits another sensitive spot.

He squeezes, just a little bit, at the back of the Alpha’s neck. Nothing rude or cruel or rough, just some pressure to remind the werewolf the hand is there, and a desperate, “Quit thaa-ha-hat!” escapes through the giggles.

And then Derek does. Quit that. He stills, nuzzles more firm and solid so as not to warrant anymore tickles, and a thin noise escapes his throat.

It takes Stiles a moment to realize the older man is _whining_.

“Derek?” he asks, worry quickly lancing through him, because he’s never heard Derek sound like that before. Everything about this situation is strange, but Stiles can handle strange, he just needs to make sure Derek’s okay.

“What did I do?” Derek mumbles into Stiles’s skin.

“You whined, dude, are you—”

“ _No,”_ Derek cuts Stiles off, arms tightening around the frail, human body. “What did I do to deserve you?”

That… is absolutely not what Stiles had been expecting to hear and his brain screeches to a halt. His body stiffens and eyes widen and he must look like an idiot, but Derek can’t see because he’s still burrowing into his neck. How was someone even supposed to respond to that?

Thankfully – or not? – Stiles doesn’t need to come up with a response because Derek decides to be talkative and continue. “You saved me. You kept my pack together. You gave them what I couldn’t. You taught me how to be better. You didn’t give up on any of us. You _joined us_. You _protect us_. What did we… What did _I_ do to deserve having you here?”

Stiles is dumbstruck, mouth hanging open now, because _wow_ , that was a lot. Was that really how Derek saw him? He knew they’d had that heart-to-heart about Stiles somehow saving the surly wolf, and that had been pretty overwhelming, but this was a new kind of vulnerable.

For _Derek_ of all people to admit to all this, without being pressured, it had to mean something huge, and Stiles couldn’t cover his emotions with jokes or sarcasm. Not here. Not with this.

“Derek,” Stiles chokes, rubbing at Derek’s neck gently, “Look at me?” The request is quiet, but Derek listens quickly, leaning back so they can lock eyes. He looks broken-open and vulnerable, eyes wide, and… _fuck,_ he looks terrified. Like Stiles is going to hurt him with this. Like this will somehow become ammo against him.

Stiles hates that the man’s first reaction to honesty is fear.

He moves his hands to cup Derek’s face. He isn’t as large as the Alpha, but his hands are long and big, like he’s going to grow into them, and they hold Derek steady. The man’s eyes flutter, a little, as Stiles stares at him. He wants to make a speech, something to match Derek’s admittance, but all the words stick in his throat. In this moment, Derek is the talkative one and Stiles speaks with action.

Stiles leans forward to press their lips together desperately because it’s the easiest thing to do. He holds Derek’s head steady, his eyes squeezing shut, and it hardly takes a second before the werewolf is responding, lips moving against each other in slow, meaningful, leisurely motions. It feels like waves, a push and pull. Stiles has imagined kissing Derek plenty of times now, but usually it includes one of them getting slammed against a wall and far more desperation in their actions than this.

This is desperate, too, but a different kind. It’s a desperation to prove what they mean to each other. A desperation to _feel_ each other.

It is so much more intimate than anything Stiles had imagined.

They slide apart slowly, lips red and swollen and wet. Belatedly, Stiles reminds himself that this is his first kiss. He’d shared his first kiss with Derek Hale. And he’d really like to share more with him, along with other things.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Stiles whispers without thinking, eyes dazed, his brain unbelievably happy and content, and he means every word.

Derek whines again and pushes forward to kiss Stiles thoroughly.

**VvvvV**

Stiles begins to relearn how to be around Scott when he starts dropping by the animal clinic to talk to Deaton. Scott still works there, after all, and Deaton doesn’t need to hide anything from him, so most of Stiles’s lessons take place while Scott is nearby, helping whatever animal might need him that day.

The lessons are more helpful than Stiles expected them to be, Deaton actually teaching him things rather than being vague and annoying, but they’re still not exactly what he’d expected. There’s no spells or incantations or anything. It’s technically “magic,” but hardly anything that’d be taught at Hogwarts.

“You aren’t a wizard, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton explains when Stiles voices his thoughts. “You are taking the magic innately present in the objects and world around you and adjusting their purpose. The natural power flows through you, to be redirected into a new form that you may harness. You are a conduit.”

“I thought I was a Spark, or something?” Stiles asks, book balanced in his lap where he sits in a chair against the wall. Scott, occasionally, glances over his shoulder at the pages before grunting in confusion and moving along.

“There is a Spark in all things,” Deaton replies absently, “But a human Spark is unique. Powerful,” he looks back at Stiles meaningfully, “Malleable.”

“Is that why humans can be turned into werewolves?” Scott asks, eyes big and curious.

“Well noted, Scott,” Deaton nods, smiling a bit, and Scott puffs up in pride. “Human Sparks can easily become a plethora of other things, changing the body with it. What you are doing, Mr. Stilinski, is learning how to harness the raw power of a pure, human Spark, unchanged, but changing the power around you.”

“Cool…” both Stiles and Scott mumble at the same time.

Mostly, what Stiles learns to do has to do with runes or magical substances. Nothing like fireballs or lightning bolts, but it is better than nothing, and soon he is catching Lydia’s attention.

The girl has always been a sponge for knowledge. She doesn’t join him at the animal clinic, but whenever they are together and Stiles opens up one of the books Deaton leant him, she will immediately join him to study alongside him.

They find out, quickly, that she is unable to use any of the powers that Stiles is learning. It doesn’t bother her, despite her huffing and puffing, and she continues to study runes and flowers and stones with him.

If anything, the whole thing further enforces the idea that Lydia is not as human as any of them believed.

“These are protective runes,” Lydia observes one day, pointing at the page Stiles is currently going over, making notes in a spiralbound notebook beside it. He looks at the runes Lydia is looking at and nods.

“They are. Kind of complicated, though,” he says. He doesn’t know how he knows the runes are what they are – doesn’t know how to explain how he can just look at a rune and understand how difficult or meaningful they can be – but he can.

“You should put them on all our houses before the Alpha Pack makes a move,” Lydia continues, voice firm, and looks at Stiles with a warning glare, like he’d actually have the nerve to fight her.

Which, okay, he had. He’d argued with Lydia Martin, of all people, and he’d never thought he would get to this point with the girl he’d once been infatuated with, but she was brilliant. She could keep up with Stiles’s crazy ideas better than anyone, match him subject for subject if it was something they both cared about, and he’d never been more invigorated.

Lydia, he could tell, felt the same. Danny and Jackson looked terrified when the two started debating, but Stiles and Lydia knew how much it meant to the other. How fun it really was, even when their voices rose. Their clashes were a test of wits, not an omen of doom for their friendship.

“I should,” Stiles agrees, looking back at the protective runes again. “Their strength varies depending on what material they’re placed on, though, since that’s where they pull the power from. For passive magic it can’t be metal, it’s been too processed by humans, but wood is good.”

Lydia grabs Stiles’s bag, not even asking because she never does, and digs out another one of Stiles’s books. This one on trees, their meanings, their purposes, and the etymology of their names. Stiles had similar books on flowers, gemstones, rocks, animals, and organs.

“I’ll make a list of what everyone’s foundations are made of,” she decides, flipping through the book and already leaving pink post-it notes on the pages for trees often used in construction. The pink and purple post-its were Lydia’s markers while Stiles’s were either red or blue.

“I’ll start studying the runes,” Stiles says and Lydia nods, the girl standing and heading for Stiles’s living room, her voice heard asking the Sheriff what wood his house is made of. Stiles tries to cover a snicker as he listens to his father flounder to respond.

**VvvvV**

The remainder of the school year is a busy time, but Stiles doesn’t mind, for once. Mostly because it is busy for entirely normal, teenage reasons.

End of the school year projects and tests are taken, trying to be finished before Finals. Isaac officially moves into Derek’s house, the Alpha legally his guardian after completing all the necessary paperwork. The entire pack teams up to egg Danny’s ex’s house. Lydia teams up with Danny and Stiles to help tutor the Betas for their Finals. Coach Finstock goes a little crazy on prepping them for the next season.

Stiles has a new _boyfriend_.

Being able to kiss Derek freaking Hale whenever he wants is perhaps the best thing to ever happen to Stiles. Even better than curly fries. Or Star Wars. It’s _that_ big.

They aren’t huge on PMA, mostly because it makes Derek twitchy and Stiles doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, but they are still incredibly tactile. They sit beside each other during pack bonding, they seek each other out during down time, they train with each other almost exclusively.

It’s… actually not that different than before they were an item…

But now, when they’re alone… Well, actually, it’s not all that different either. They still have Thursday date nights – and, yes, they’ve begun calling it that, too, since that’s what it has become – and they enjoy being in each other’s company, working on something together, or talking about nothing. Now, though, there is a peace to them, like something about their relationship has finally fit into the right place, and they slowly begin to, truly, learn each other.

Plus kissing.

Really good kissing.

They haven’t had sex, despite Stiles desperately wanting to, because Derek wants to wait. Stiles respects it, he really does, but that doesn’t stop them both from getting a little hot and bothered every now and again. Majority of the time, if a make out session ends up with Stiles in Derek’s lap, grinding will be taking place.

It also feels like the both of them are on equal footing in this newfound relationship. Despite Stiles fantasizing about Derek taking control and ravishing him whenever he pleases, he doesn’t think he could have handled this if Derek tried to be somehow superior. If Derek tried to be the Alpha.

Because Derek is an Alpha to his pack, and it works – or it is beginning to work – but this? The two of them? Stiles has never stood down against Derek beyond when they were first getting to know each other. They clash sometimes, sure, but not out of hatred or distrust. Even their arguments are filled with respect, trying to find compromise between themselves because both has an equal amount of say.

Stiles, sometimes, remembers Derek calling him the Alpha and not Scott. He doesn’t feel like an Alpha, but if that’s how Derek sees him…

Stiles hadn’t really processed just how much of an equal Derek saw him as until, unsurprisingly, they’d been making out on Derek’s couch. Less than a week old and the couch already had spilled taco sauce on one corner, courtesy of Erica, and they’d covered it with a soft blanket.

The kissing had been good, but then Stiles had decided that they should definitely get more comfortable against the very comfy blanket and grabbed Derek’s shoulders, pushing him until he was laying down and Stiles was hovering over him. Derek could have fought it, could have pushed Stiles down, but instead he _allows_ the human to pin him there and continue their kissing.

Then Stiles is kissing along Derek’s jaw, beard burn making his face red, and Derek is exposing his neck and Stiles is sucking a bruise into the tender skin there and the Alpha is _moaning_ and Stiles realizes just how much Derek must trust him for this to be happening.

It’s a realization that doesn’t make Stiles feel powerful. He doesn’t take advantage of it or take control more often than he already does. It just makes him happy.

And judging by the way he – a scrawny, weak, human teenager – can make an Adonis like Derek Hale _squirm_ , he suspects the feeling’s mutual.

**VvvvV**

Lydia breaks up with Jackson.

Stiles finds out about this one day when he is coming down his stairs and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Jackson Whittemore sitting in his den, silent, looking lost. He’d likely forgotten they’d moved the PS3 to Derek’s house, where Jackson had just barely begun to play Mass Effect 2, and had come to the Stilinski home on autopilot.

Stiles feels a little honored, but he hopes the pack will start heading to Derek for comfort on autopilot too. It would be good and healthy for everyone to have a ranged set of support.

“Jackson,” Stiles greets slowly, moving to plop down in a recliner, “To what do I owe the displeasure.”

Jackson glares, because of course he does, but his body reads “defeat” and Stiles feels worry building despite himself. And then Jackson is telling him how Lydia had broken up with him, how it had been a long, long conversation of the both of them figuring out where each other stood, and deciding they might, maybe, not be good for each other.

“I thought you loved each other, though? Like, proven love, that was proven, since she cured your kanima-ness,” Stiles had said, the first time he’d spoken since Jackson had begun to unload everything onto him, and the other boy shrugs.

“We _do_ , we’re just…” Jackson waves his hand as if that means something.

Weirdly enough, it kind of does. Stiles is, after all, the expert on random body movement. “You’re not romantically in love,” he offers and watches as Jackson sighs, deflates, then nods. “Are you… upset?” Stiles doesn’t know how to play therapist for testy lizard-wolves, but he thinks he might be doing alright so far. Jackson hasn’t paralyzed him yet, which is a good sign.

“Less than I thought I’d be,” the blond admits quietly, like he’s ashamed to admit it, and Stiles flinches in sympathy. Everyone had expected the two of them to be together forever after everything. Stiles hopes they hadn’t influenced the two into staying together longer than they should have…

“Still…” Stiles says slowly, rising from his seat and plopping down on the couch beside the snappy werewolf. “A break up’s a break up.”

Stiles doesn’t think he will EVER get used to being touched by Jackson fucking Whittemore, but werewolves are tactile. Touch is important in a pack, and while Jackson is likely the most reserved, he’s still one of them and Stiles has offered him safety more than anyone else.

So, while it is weird for a bit, Stiles doesn’t flinch when Jackson slumps against his side, huffing, and buries his face against the side of Stiles’s neck. It’s a bit closer than they usually get, but they are alone at the moment and Jackson is having a rough time, so it’s understandable.

Stiles moves an arm to circle the other boy’s middle, offering a half hug in hopes it will help. Stiles isn’t sure how he knows, but he can sense that Jackson feels raw. Worn down beyond the point of comfort. Stiles can understand that.

After a while of the two of them sitting in silence, though, Stiles feels Jackson’s face scrunch up a little. “You smell like Derek,” he mumbles, but doesn’t move away. If anything, he tries to discreetly shuffle closer. It isn’t discreet at all.

Stiles also wonders if the smell of the Alpha is comforting. He thinks it should be and he hopes it’s a positive development.

“Yes, that would be from the whole dating him thing,” Stiles snarks, earning a scoff from Jackson. He can’t see or feel it, but Stiles suspects the other boy is rolling his eyes.

“You always smelled like each other, dumbass. We all knew you morons had a thing for each other before you did.”

“Oh, please, keep talkin’ sweet to me, Whittemore,” Stiles rolls his own eyes, fighting the blush that wants to come to his face. Had Stiles really been that obvious?

“Don’t get excited, Stilinski, you are so not my type,” Jackson fires back, but a lot of the heat is lost with the fact they’re fundamentally snuggled together, even if it is platonic. It’s intimate, but for different reasons. It’s intimate because of how vulnerable it makes them, because they are opening themselves up to someone else. Isaac tried to explain it to Stiles once, how much it meant to them that they could snuggle up with the human at any time and know they were safe, but Stiles had nearly started crying at how sweet it all was and Isaac had stopped.

“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, adjusting his head so his chin rests on top of Jackson’s hair. “Male.”

But then Jackson is stiffening, a warning that what Stiles has said has trudged up an entirely different issue, and he allows the werewolf to push away and put some space between them.

“Or… not?” Stiles ventures, watching as Jackson scowls and looks around the room for a distraction. “Jackson, do you like men?”

“No,” Jackson snaps, too quickly, then flushes as his eyes widen. “Or… possibly. I think Lydia might have been hinting at it for a while...”

“What? Like, suggesting threesomes with another man? Asking if you thought some male celebrity was hot? Urging you to go to the Jungle with Danny?” Stiles ventures, smiling at the thought of it, and he sees Jackson’s whole face and neck turn pink. The boy doesn’t blush often, but when he does it takes over all his features.

“Basically…” Jackson mumbles, looking away again, and Stiles decides teasing him about this might be a little too far into cruel territory.

“Okay… so, do you think you’re gay?” he asks. “Or you could be bi?”

“You’re bi, right?” Jackson questions, momentarily looking up for clarification, and Stiles nod.

“Yeah, I am. How’d you know?” He could have easily been pan or under the ace umbrella or a litany of other possible labels. He hadn’t thought he’d specifically mentioned bisexuality to anyone besides Scott…

“Because you’re a disaster.”

Stiles’s stare is bland as he watches Jackson smirk. “Danny taught you that, didn’t he?” he grumbles, but Jackson just shrugs so he decides they should just move on. “There’s a shit ton of sexualities out there. You wanna google any of them?” It might be a little awkward, but Stiles was good at research, and he could make a list for Jackson to go over if he wanted.

The werewolf shakes his head, though, so Stiles lets it drop.

“You wanna play video games instead? My Gamecube is upstairs.”

“You still have a _Gamecube?_ ” Despite Jackson’s rather rude question, and Stiles’s justified affronted response, they both end up moving to Stiles’s room to play Super Mario Strikers until they pass out for the night.

**VvvvV**

Stiles doesn’t trust Peter as far as he can throw him, but he has to admit that the man is different now. Being resurrected and not going insane from trauma and unplanned Alpha powers apparently changes a person. Not for the better, but not for the worse, either. Who knew?

No one knows where the man stands, and he milks that uncertainty anytime they have some kind of encounter. He takes enjoyment out of spooking everyone out, being vague and annoying, and preening when people get angry with him. He’s like the kid at school who misbehaves just to get attention.

It’s with this realization that Stiles decides Peter shall be his greatest douchebag whispering challenge.

The man is clever, enjoys using his tricks and mind games for entertainment, and he likes having the attention on him, like a prima donna. For a while Stiles simply matches Peter blow for blow, sarcastic comments and snide remarks thrown everywhere whenever the older werewolf made an appearance, but that set the pack on edge after a while, and Stiles didn’t want that.

Instead, Stiles found out where Peter was currently hold up – an apartment downtown that seemed far too nice for his shady ass – and decided to make a visit.

He’d also brought a gift.

“A chess set?” Peter had hummed curiously after Stiles had invited himself in and they’d gotten past the pleasantries that weren’t, at all, pleasant. The human placed the new set on the kitchen table, pulling out carved pieces painted black and white and setting them in their rightful spots. Stiles had always liked chess sets, they could be quite beautiful sometimes, but he didn’t play enough to warrant buying them.

This one may have been a bit of an excited, splurge purchase – the whole thing was hand carved and gorgeous – but no one needed to know that.

Stiles plopped down in a seat, then, on the side facing the black pieces, then looked at Peter expectantly. He didn’t say a word, didn’t explain himself, didn’t make any movement. It was one of the hardest moments of his life, just waiting, not jittering, until Peter took a seat across from him.

The wolf looked intrigued, wanting to understand what was going on in this strange human’s mind. He’d shown a bit of respect for Stiles’s brain in the past, back when he’d been completely insane rather than partially, and Stiles suspected some of that respect still remained.

Slowly, Peter moves a white pawn, then sits back and waits, his eyes sharp.

Stiles looks down to the pieces, waits a moment, then moves one of his own black pawns.

The game is nearly completely silent save for an occasional huff, curse, or hum. Then, after nearly an hour, Peter is smirking and announcing, “Checkmate,” and that’s the end. Stiles stands, leaves the chess set there, and heads for the door.

After that, on occasion, if Stiles has a free moment, he will drop by to play a single match of chess. The games aren’t as silent anymore, but they don’t speak like friends, either. Majority of the time they end up talking about the Alpha Pack, strategies, Derek’s pack, Scott’s standing, hunters. Its conversations between two, smart, crafty people who respect each other, but don’t necessarily like each other.

Chess allows the both of them to find common ground while keeping their distance, and it works for them. When Peter pops up around the pack he’s still obnoxious, but a tiny bit less so.

Then, nearly a month after Derek moved into his home, he receives a housewarming gift from his uncle. Stiles is there and he watches, curiously, as Derek sets down a chess set on his own kitchen table, this one made entirely of glass, one set of pieces clear, while the other is foggy.

Stiles, intrigued by the craftsmanship, immediately meanders over to pick up the pieces and observe them.

“A chess set…” Derek is saying, confused, and looking back at his uncle. “I don’t play chess…” Which is a travesty, in Stiles’s opinion.

Peter, though, just shrugs and smirks until Derek grits his teeth. “Is that so? Pity. What about you, Stiles? Care for a match?”

So they end up playing, wrapped up in their game but also fully aware of Derek watching them, baffled and shocked and clearly unsure what to do. Peter doesn’t hide his amused smirk at his nephew’s reaction, but Stiles at least tries not to laugh.

He grudgingly has to admit that there might be something to this type of teasing Peter is so fond of.

**VvvvV**

Scott has to go to summer classes after school gets out. Stiles finds this out not from Scott, but from Erica, because she, too, is having to take additional classes. With all the chaos these last few months, the both of them simply hadn’t been able to catch up with their schoolwork the way they’d wanted.

This is also why, probably, Stiles ends up walking into Derek’s house one day to find Derek, Isaac, and Boyd stiffly sitting in the living room without the TV on.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asks, walking up to the loveseat Boyd has claimed, his hand instinctively brushing against the larger boy’s shoulder, attempting to ease whatever is causing the tension in the room.

“Scott’s here,” Derek offers tersely, his arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes glaring up at the ceiling. Stiles suspects he’s focused on something on the second floor, though, which has Stiles curious.

“Erica brought him over after classes,” Isaac offers, fidgeting in his seat, but smirking a little anyway, “He looked like he was going to shit himself when he came in.”

“Why?” Stiles glances upwards.

“Because we’re terrifying?” Isaac offers and Stiles gives him a sharp look.

“No, jackass, why is he here?”

“Erica is working on her videos for YouTube. He, apparently, offered to help her out,” the blond boy shrugs and that really confused Stiles. If Erica needed help with video stuff, Danny would have been a more logical choice. And why would Scott have offered, anyway? Scott had been avoiding them for the remainder of the school year, and they’d been avoiding him. They all needed space, so what had changed?

Maybe it was because he and Erica were having to interact so closely now? They’d be the only ones in their summer courses who knew each other, perhaps they were getting closer out of necessity?

“He’s letting her do his make up,” Boyd is saying abruptly, which makes Isaac start to cackle when Stiles’s eyes grow wide.

“What?” he questions, stepping away from Boyd so he can look at him properly. “Seriously?” The larger boy simply shrugs, though, as if to say, “It is what it is,” and Stiles isn’t sure what to do with this information. “And, wait… he offered to help?!”

“Yep!” Isaac replies, popping the “p” obnoxiously.

“ _Why?_ ” Stiles throws his hands out to emphasize just how lost he is, his flailing earning him a kick from Boyd when a hand nearly slaps his face.

But then it hits him and Stiles’s arms flop to his sides. His eyes widen and he feels the three wolves’ eyes fall to him when they notice his realization. “What? What is it?” Derek demands, looking ready to spring up and drag Scott out of his home with any reason Stiles might have for him.

Stiles can’t blame him, but… “He’s trying to earn his forgiveness,” he says quietly, glancing up at the ceiling. Technically, only Isaac has his own, official room, but the others had laid claim to their own anyway. Erica’s was full of her clothes and make up and pillows – the girl had a _lot_ of pillows – and she’d set up her desk and recording rig to start making her make up videos.

“What are you talking about?” Derek demands, shifting and standing from the couch, but Stiles moves quickly to grab his arm and tug him back to sitting. He settles in beside the Alpha, hoping the physical contact will help calm him down.

“Cool your jets, big guy,” Stiles grunts, smiling despite himself. “It was something me and Scott talked about after… well, _after_ ,” the human explains, hand running through his lengthening hair. It was getting to the point he could kind of style it, and Lydia had offered to trim and shape it for him once it was long enough.

“What? That he should do stuff for us? Because I’m totally okay with that,” Isaac snickers, leaning around Derek to talk to Stiles, but the human rolls his eyes.

“No, dude, chill,” he grunts, reaching around Derek enough so he can smack at Isaac’s leg. “We just talked about how, after what he’d done, if he ever wanted everyone’s forgiveness that he would have to earn it back. Same with our trust.” He pauses to look at the three of them before focusing mostly on Derek, a hand running down his arm until he can weave their fingers together.

“No one is required to forgive or trust him,” he says lowly, catching the red glow in Derek’s eyes. Slowly, cautiously, the red fades, making way for gorgeous green.

“I’m willing to hear him out,” Boyd offers solemnly, and when Stiles looks over with a grateful expression, the other teen offers a single nod.

“I wonder how much I can get him to do,” Isaac wonders aloud, smirking, clearly meaning for Stiles to hear and get irritated.

“Alright, okay, you deserve a little retribution, but don’t be _too_ cruel with the guy,” Stiles grumbles, allowing himself to flop against Derek’s side to relax.

“I make absolutely no promises,” Isaac replies, still smirking, and Derek kicks his shin for Stiles in retaliation.

**VvvvV**

Scott looks frighteningly gorgeous when he comes downstairs, decked out in full make up, with Erica preening at her own abilities. The rest of the pack had arrived eventually, all crowded around the living room to watch TV or talk.

“Damn, Scottie!” Stiles calls as Isaac whoops, Danny claps, and Jackson catcalls. Scott squirms, clearly uncomfortable, but looking oddly pleased.

“You should wear make up more often, Scott,” Lydia offers primly, making Scott gulp, and Erica begin laughing.

It’s still tense in the house until Scott makes his escape, but slowly they begin to grow accustomed to the occasional appearance of the estranged werewolf. Technically, he’s currently an Omega, but Stiles likes the term “estranged” better.

He mostly pops up with Erica, letting her do make up on him for her videos, and lingering to chat with Stiles. Thanks to their occasional encounters at the animal clinic there is a bit more ease in their conversations, but the tension of the rest of the pack kind of holds them back.

And it certainly doesn’t go by Stiles that his pack is particularly extra handsy after Scott is gone.

The tension finally, finally breaks when Stiles enters the house to the sound of chords being effortlessly played on the piano, followed by a decidedly less effortless attempt to copy them. He ends up joining Erica and Isaac, peaking around the corner to where they set up the piano in the front room by the window, to watch as Boyd attempts to give Scott an impromptu piano lesson.

Scott’s tongue is poking out the side of his mouth and his brows are furrowed as he puts all of his focus on memorizing and repeating the chords Boyd shows him. And Boyd is smiling, very faintly, as he finally has someone willing to sit down for long enough to learn from him.

After that the rest of the pack begins to loosen up, little by little. There is still a clear uneasiness, but it’s getting better.

Erica still drags Scott up to do videos with her, but now, sometimes, Scott will just be walking around with a little bit of eyeliner on or gloss on his lips and Stiles knows he wasn’t filming a video that day. Boyd continues the piano lessons, too, eventually moving Scott onto actual tunes and songs.

Isaac finally makes his move when Stiles isn’t around, but he is there when the two wolves return to Derek’s home, a little sweaty, dressed for a run. They both look filthy, likely having gone running like wolves in the forest rather than like Stiles and Isaac around town.

It does warrant a very funny “argument” between Stiles and Isaac, Stiles accusing Isaac of being unfaithful while Isaac promises it didn’t mean anything. They “make up” when Scott begins to laugh so hard he topples over and the rest of them can’t help but follow.

Jackson doesn’t really try to “connect” with Scott because they were never close to begin with, so there really isn’t much to fix there. Scott does, however, occasionally watch Jackson’s playthrough of Mass Effect 2, making comments about choices he disagrees with and usually bickering with another one of Jackson’s audience members at the time.

Lydia doesn’t allow Scott to try and reconnect with her.

She’s stubborn and sure of herself and instead she takes the opportunity to tear him a new one. She snaps at him something fierce before barreling into why he was such an idiot and why he should be ashamed of himself. Basically, all the stuff Stiles had said to him before, but much more elegantly and with a lot less loving undertone.

She’s ferocious, looking more like a wolf than the actual werewolves in the pack, and she holds nothing back against Scott.

She finishes up with a demand that Scott continue to befriend the pack, that despite her anger and disappointment he’s still a good kid and they do like him, and then takes it upon herself to invite him to the next pack bonding.

She does this all in front of the rest of the pack, too, before sitting down with Danny to show that she’s done. There is a shocked silence afterwards, everyone looking between Lydia, who is acting like nothing happened, and Scott, who is red in shame. He looks miserable, standing there, surrounded by a pack he shunned and denied. Surrounded by people he once called friend but who he now stands on shaky ground with.

He looks like he might start crying and Stiles is about to get up and… do something. Hug him, maybe? Escort him out? But Derek beats him to it.

The Alpha grunts, getting Scott’s attention, and motioning to the spot on the couch between himself and Isaac. It’s an olive branch that Derek doesn’t need to offer, has no obligation to offer, but he does so anyway.

Because he’s a damn good person.

Scott looks like he’s going to cry again, but this time for different reasons, as he moves over and sits down. Isaac presses into him, a comforting gesture, and Stiles watches as Scott hesitates, then presses back. It makes Stiles smile, happy and more content than he’s been in a while, and he shifts to nuzzle against Derek’s neck in gratitude.

They end up continuing watching Avatar the Last Airbender, because Derek, Boyd, Isaac, and Lydia had never seen it, and Danny had the full box set. Then, that Sunday, Stiles picks up Scott on his way to pack bonding night.

It’s no coincidence it is at the laser tag arcade.

**VvvvV**

It takes the combined efforts of the whole pack to convince Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore not to take Jackson away to London over the summer.

It had all started with Jackson, more wolf than man, charging into Stiles’s room through his window one night, looking terrified and frantic. Derek had also been there, since it seemed unfair that they only ever seemed to hook up while at Derek’s home, and they’d been lounging on Stiles’s bed trying to watch a movie on a laptop, when Derek had gone on the alert. A moment later, Jackson had been at the window, shifted and whining in distress.

Stiles doesn’t know if Jackson had been drawn there because of Stiles or Derek or both, but he doesn’t have time to consider it as the wolfed-out boy ends up burrowing himself between the both of them in search of security and comfort. It reminds Stiles of the times, when he was little, that he would hide between his mother and father after a nightmare, but he doesn’t say that out loud. He doubts Jackson would appreciate the comparison.

It takes a while for them to sort out what happened – both Derek and Stiles trying to offer steady support while Stiles speaks lowly and comfortingly, like his mother used to do – and eventually Jackson manages to explain that his parents wanted to take him away. That, after all the chaos in town and nearly losing their son, they wanted to move him far, far away and never come back.

But Jackson has a pack, now. He has a solid foundation that he doesn’t want to lose, and, despite how much of an asshole he is, no one wants to lose Jackson either.

Stiles tries to further ease the werewolf, most of his monstrous features having faded save for his glowing blue eyes, his claws – currently not dripping with venom, thank god – and his long, lizard tail that he has wrapped around both himself and Stiles. The tail _had_ been wrapped around Derek, too, but the Alpha had slipped out to fetch the freaked-out teen something to drink.

It doesn’t take long for the other werewolves to start trickling in, sensing the distress over their bond, and while Jackson is finally sitting up and drinking a glass of water greedily, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are tripping through Stiles’s window.

“You know, my dad prefers it when you use the front door. You even know where the spare key is hidden!” Stiles says, because he feels like he should, but the Betas ignore him as they all end up piling onto the bed, wanting to comfort one of their own.

After that, they work hard to convince the Whittemore’s to stay without telling them about the supernatural. They all work their best pleas, leaning heavily on Danny and Lydia’s influence, but even deploying the combined powers of Isaac and Scott’s puppy dog eyes.

“Are they soulless?” Erica had whispered when the puppy-eye-double-strike hadn’t worked at all.

“Possibly,” Jackson had replied, looking miserable.

They finally, with great relief, manage to convince the Whittemore’s to keep Jackson in Beacon Hills when they claim Derek has been helping troubled teens with their problems – which isn’t actually false – and that Jackson has been making good progress, if it is a bit slow, and that sending him away could completely reverse all the progress made.

With a few more crafted stories and pleas, the Whittemore’s finally relent, allowing Jackson to stay with the people he is familiar with while _they_ move away. Apparently, they’d already sold the house and changed addresses and everything – without even informing their son – and they seem fine with leaving Jackson behind, which rubs Stiles in all the wrong ways.

The sentiment, it would seem, is shared by Noah Stilinski, too.

Jackson needs a place to stay, and while the Whittemore’s seem to think highly of Derek and his help with their son, they don’t know him well enough to allow Jackson to stay with him. Stiles suspects Jackson will end up with Danny instead, since they’re best friends, but that assumption is crushed when he’s walking into his own home, one day, and trips over a ton of moving boxes that were definitely not there before.

He looks around, confused and startled, at the mess of boxes, but then turns around sharply at the sound of snickering.

“Hey there, roomie,” Jackson says from the doorway, arms crossed and looking smug and obnoxious. It takes Stiles a moment to process just why Jackson is there, what these boxes mean, and the name he’d just been called. And the moment he does…

“I immediately wish we’d sent you to England,” Stiles growls in retaliation, to which Jackson rolls his eyes.

And then Stiles is hugging Jackson, and Jackson is hugging back, because actually speaking their relief and gratitude isn’t something the two of them do, and this is what Stiles’s life has become.

**VvvvV**

The Sheriff accompanies his son as he goes around the neighborhood, carving runes into the pack’s homes. He doesn’t have to, but this part of the supernatural – these powers Stiles is apparently capable of – is still peculiar to him. Plus, it has to do with his son directly, and he wants to understand them. Because he’s an awesome father and Stiles loves him for putting in the effort.

“So, like, the powers that naturally occur in these woods are always there, but they’re inactive,” Stiles is explaining as he finishes up the last of the runes for Derek’s home. “What I am doing to making these powers active. The runes are what dictate _how_ these active powers will act.”

He turns to his father, who is dressed casually but has a serious expression of concentration on his face, and watches as his father tries to understand what he’s said.

“So, you’re like a light switch,” Noah eventually says, getting a confused head tilt from his son, so he specifies, “All this stuff is like electricity and light bulbs. All you’re doing is turning it off and on.”

“Oh… yeah, I guess?” Stiles scratches at his head, looking at the newly placed rune. “I mean, almost. Imagine that the light switch had color options. You can still turn the lights off and on, but you can also make a few, specific adjustments.”

“So, a dimming dial?” Sheriff Stilinski smirks, apparently wanting to one-up his son’s color-changing light switch idea with something a bit more common place. Stiles frowns and points his tongue out at him.

“Sure, dad, but a color-changing light switch is way cooler,” he huffs, turning away to lead them both inside. He was sweating from being outside in the summer heat for so long, the runes having taken up more time than expected, and he’d only managed to finish his own home and Derek’s so far.

Derek offers them both a glass of iced tea, a pitcher of the stuff sitting in the fridge courtesy of Mrs. McCall. The woman, once Scott had finally been welcomed back as a friend – not pack, Stiles tries to remind himself – had started sending him over with all kinds of foods and drinks.

“Hi, Mr. Stilinski!” Isaac calls from the kitchen as they come in. Derek had cooled down around the Sheriff, but Isaac still thought the world of the man.

“Hello, Isaac, how are you doing today?” Noah greets, moving over to offer his full attention to the teen. It was something Isaac clearly appreciated, how Noah would listen to him fully and with no judgement.

Derek and Stiles watch the exchange for a moment, before facing each other.

“Runes all done?” Derek asks.

“Runes all done,” Stiles nods. “I will now be able to sense when anyone with ‘ill intent’ enters into the proximity of your home, plus it will be significantly more difficult to do physical damage to the wood. I’m working on something for the windows, but I—”

“You’ve done enough,” Derek whispers, a smile on his face. “You’re exhausted. Don’t push yourself.”

“I can’t help it,” Stiles sighs, shoulders sagging a little, and allows Derek to maneuver him to the couch. “The longer we go without any news on the Alpha Pack, the more tense I get. I want us to be as prepared as possible.” He raises up the glass of iced tea to run the cool, damp surface over his neck, trying to cool off. It was hot outside, but he also knew some of his overheated reaction came from overworking his new abilities.

He spies Derek watching a drip of condensation run down his neck and tries not to smirk. His dad is only just over there, after all.

“I get it,” Derek sighs, a hand snaking around the human’s waist and tugging him close. “I don’t like not knowing where they are or what they’re doing.”

“Peter find anything else out?” Stiles asks, sipping his drink as his eyelids flutter a little.

“He suspects he knows the section of town they might be hiding in, but he isn’t too confident. Still, I sent Boyd and Scott out with him to check things out.”

That has Stiles pausing, alertness coming back to his limbs as he looks sideways at Derek. “I’m sorry… you sent Scott?” he says slowly, confused. “I know we’ve all been doing really well together lately, but I’m surprised you’re trusting him with this. And that he took orders from you.”

“Scott actually asked me,” Derek replies, a tired tilt to his shoulders as he leans back, and a confused furrow to his brows. “He overheard Peter and I and came in to ask if he could help. I sent Boyd to assure everything went smoothly.”

That made sense. Boyd was the most down-to-earth out of all of them, and he was good at keeping things moving. He wasn’t necessarily a “take charge” kind of person, not with how reserved he was, but there was a firm, straightforwardness to him that kept people on track.

“I suppose the Alpha Pack is a threat to him, too,” Stiles says slowly, trying to sort out Scott’s motives here.

But Derek is humming in the negative, a thoughtful disagreement, as he stares at the ceiling. “I think he’s acting similar to how you did before becoming pack,” he observes, the hand he doesn’t have loosely slung around Stiles’s waist coming up to run over his stubble. “He cares about us and wants to help keep everyone safe – acting like he is pack – but not actually being pack.”

“Except I actually ended up joining,” Stiles responds, head tilted as Derek looks back at him. “Do you think that’s what Scott will actually end up doing?” Stiles… wouldn’t lie. He would be overjoyed if Scott decided to join the pack. His friend had been so adamant for so long about not being under Derek’s command, but that had been a while ago. Derek had changed. Scott had changed. The pack had changed.

But also… “Would you want him to join?” Stiles asks quietly, concerned, but Derek doesn’t seem phased.

“Would you?” the Alpha offers back instead, and Stiles pinches his lips together.

“I’d like it… For myself and for Scott,” he admits, like he’s ashamed, because he hadn’t been the one hurt in all of this. He’d mostly been a bystander. Everything had been going well, they were getting along with the estranged wolf so well, even Derek, but if joining the pack could cause the Alpha _any_ kind of distress, then Stiles didn’t want that. He’d help Scott build a new pack, but he wouldn’t force Derek to accept him.

“Stiles,” Derek begins, voice gentle and low and it sends chills down the human’s spine, but then the arm around his waist is stiffening and Derek is sitting up straight. Stiles looks over and sees Derek’s eyes on the back door. From here, Stiles can also see that Isaac has stiffened in the kitchen, he and Noah looking alarmed.

“Blood,” Derek is announcing abruptly, standing up, and Stiles nearly spills his tea before he can set it on the coffee table.

“Blood?!” he yelps, also standing up and trailing after the Alpha as he moves towards the back door.

“Did you sense your runes go off?” Noah is asking his son, he and Isaac joining them and the Sheriff reaching to the gun he has strapped to his belt. He didn’t much travel without it anymore, Stiles had noticed.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head, “No one with ‘ill intent’ has come close. Can you smell whose blood it is?”

“No, it’s really mixed up, and a lot of it’s unfamiliar,” Isaac replies, but Derek’s face is pinched in mounting horror, which draws all their attention. “Or… maybe just unfamiliar to me?” Isaac offers hesitantly, confused.

“It smells like… But that… that’s not possible…” the Alpha is saying, staring at the back door but not touching it. He looks like he’s going into shock, but Stiles doesn’t understand why. What about this blood was so jarring to the werewolf?

“Hey!” someone calls from outside. It sounds like Scott, frantic and harried and Stiles is lurching forward to grab the handle on the back door to open it. The backyard is long and lined with wooden fences, while the back leads directly into the woods. There _had_ been a fence along the back, but Derek had removed it almost immediately.

And now, emerging from tree line, comes Scott, Boyd, and Peter, a bundle in Boyd’s arms that looks limp and small.

Every single one of them is covered in blood.

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasps, moving quickly outside to meet them, Isaac moving past him quicker and Noah and Derek not far behind. “What happened?!” Stiles demands, sliding in front of the group. Isaac is frantically looking over Scott and Boyd first, whining when he sees scratches that are still sluggishly bleeding. They look dreadful, and Isaac begins leeching their pain to the best of his ability, so Peter steps forward. He looks the least banged up.

“We… accidentally stumbled… on their hiding place,” Peter gasps, face hard and lacking in its usual mirth. Despite looking the best out of the group, he still looks awful.

“We can sort that out later,” the Sheriff is cutting in, taking charge like this is a crime scene. And it kind of is… “Why aren’t you healing?”

“Alpha wounds… take longer to heal,” Peter grunts and he tries to shake out his head.

“I can call Melissa. Some extra medical assistance will help,” Noah says, but then turns to nod at his son. Stiles nods back, pulling out his phone and stepping to the side to give Mrs. McCall a call. He hesitates, though, when he turns, because he catches sight of Derek out of the corner of his eye.

The Alpha is frozen, his eyes wide in horror, and Stiles twists to see what he’s looking at.

It is then that he realizes the bundle in Boyd’s arms is a person. A girl. Maybe their age. Coated in blood, both old and new.

“Peter…” Stiles says slowly, drawing the older wolf’s attention. The human keeps his eyes on the girl, though. “Who is that?”

A whine, barely detectable, escapes Derek, his own expression quickly changing to devastated and, just a little bit, hopeful. Peter sighs, looking older than he ever has before, and wipes a hand over his face, smearing blood in the process.

“That, Stiles, is your boyfriend’s little sister; Cora Hale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love hearing y'all's thoughts! And have a wonderful day!
> 
> Chapter Song: [Consider Me - Allen Stone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhX7ZJS3shE)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it so far! Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Chapter Song: [So Will I - Ben Platt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VjDNOJHQ3g)


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